LI B R.AR.Y 
 
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 UNIVERSITY 
 
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 W. H. SMITH & SON'S 
 
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 Return this book on or before the 
 Latest Date stamped below. 
 
 University of Illinois Library 
 
 CCI 251954 
 
 Lli. 1 — 1141
 
 LORD FALCONBERG'S HEIR. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 LOED FALCONBEECx'S HEIE. 
 
 |v pbeL 
 
 CHARLES CLARKE, 
 
 author of "charlie thornhill," "which is the winner, 
 "the beauclekes," etc., etc. 
 
 IN" TWO VOLUMES'. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193, PICCADHiLY. 
 
 1868. 
 
 [TJie ri'jht of Trwislation is reserved.]
 
 JOHN CHIIDS AND SON, PBINTERS.
 
 
 CONTENTS OE VOL. I. 
 
 
 CHAP. 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 ll 
 
 T. 
 
 OXFOED AS IT WAS 
 
 1 
 
 iv 
 
 II. 
 
 A SELFISH LOVE ... 
 
 .. 14 
 
 1 
 
 III. 
 
 PEGGY JANSEN 
 
 33 
 
 
 IV. 
 
 OUR HERO, SUCH AS HE IS 
 
 .. 44 
 
 V. 
 
 MUST WIN A POT o' MONEY 
 
 .. 55 
 
 1 
 
 VI. 
 
 JANSEN'S HOUSEHOLD ARRANGEMENTS 
 
 .. 66 
 
 v^ 
 
 VII. 
 
 THE COUSINS 
 
 .. 7G 
 
 > 
 
 VIII. 
 
 WHO RIDES THE ROVER? ... 
 
 .. 88 
 
 c< 
 
 
 
 
 =40 
 
 IX. 
 
 THE PARTY AT THE HOLT ... 
 
 96 
 
 y 
 
 X. 
 
 A GENTLEMAN-RIDER WITHOUT A MOUNT 
 
 .. 108 
 
 ^ 
 
 XI. 
 
 THE RACE ... 
 
 ... 122 
 
 < 
 
 XII. 
 
 HOW TO PAY A DEBT OF HONOUR WITHOI 
 
 JT 
 
 MONEY ... ... ... ... ... 136 
 
 Xin, WHERE HAROLD GOT THE MONEY TO PAY HIS 
 
 DEBTS OF HONOUR ... ... ... 146
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAP, 
 
 XIV. Harold's other cousin 
 
 XV. ECONOMY 
 
 XVI. HAROLD FALCON RECEIVES SOME INTELLIGENCE 
 WHEN HE LEAST EXPECTS IT 
 
 XVIL THE PRODIGAL RETURNS ... 
 
 XVIII. HAWKESTONE CASTLE 
 
 XIX. AFTER A LONG INTERVAL ... 
 
 XX. A COUNTRY-HOUSE IN SEASON 
 
 XXI. AN EARLY DAY WITH THE CUBS 
 
 XXn. EARLY MORNING IN ST JAMES'S 
 
 XXIII. OUR RELIGIOUS EXERCISES ... 
 
 XXIV. THE JANSENS. MOTHER AND SON 
 
 PAGE 
 159 
 
 172 
 
 187 
 213 
 229 
 237 
 251 
 265 
 277 
 292 
 305
 
 LORD FALCONBEPiG'S HEIR. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 OXFOED AS IT WAS. 
 
 ^ QuiETA non movere/ What a picture ! what 
 classic dignity ! what philosophic indifference to 
 other people ! how wonderfully suggestive of the 
 unprincipled minister of an apathetic sovereign ! 
 Let well alone ; well, if it be well, certainly ! but 
 how if it be bad ? be careful not to make it worse. 
 So are we freed from the horns of a dilemma : 
 when the dilemma is progression, which stuhifies 
 itself. 
 
 Any man who considers the conditions of 
 our constitution, with care and impartiality, 
 will admit that it came to perfection about 
 the time of Edward III. It was then well 
 known to be the admiration of all Christen- 
 dom. From that time it wanted nothing, and 
 should have been a model to future states and 
 
 VOL. I. 1
 
 2 LORD FALCONBERG's HEIR. 
 
 generations. Occasionally a gentle tinkering was 
 demanded for the vessel of the state, more by the 
 know-nothings and the busy-bodies who looked 
 on from the shore, and who claimed to be pro- 
 prietors, and wiser than other people, than from 
 those who directed the helm, and superintended 
 the rigging, and who must have been the best 
 judges of how far the leak was to be repaired. 
 What is the object of change and renovation so 
 long as battles are won and salaries are paid, and 
 there are ragouts and pure claret for the ten thou- 
 sand, and a sufficiency of something or other for 
 the million ? What could a navvy do with a me- 
 ringue, or a hackney-coachman with a sweetbread 
 stewed in champagne ? Little more than with a 
 vote : exchange it for something useful. 
 
 How wonderfully the world (of course we mean 
 England and the English) moves on, whoever 
 may be at the helm : Henry II. or the Pope ; 
 the King or the Barons ; York or Lancaster ; a 
 
 Charles or a Cromwell ; a Protestant or a 
 
 (no ! we must have an orthodox minister at the 
 head of affairs, for we have always sacrificed even 
 our loyalty to our religion) ; a Stuart or a Hano- 
 verian ; a Pitt, a Fox, a Grey, a Eussell, a Peel, 
 a Palmerston, or a Stanley. We have called out 
 loudly once or t\Nace since the Middle Ages, and
 
 OXFORD AS IT WAS. 6 
 
 the governing powers liave obliged us, or we 
 should have oblisred them. But the action is 
 contemptible enough; and if we are to have 
 many more of these changes, I for one shall be- 
 gin to think that England and the English are 
 not so infallible as they have always pretended 
 to be. 
 
 Now nothing of this sort would come amiss : 
 neither Household Suffrage, nor Vote by Ballot, 
 nor University Extension, nor Inquiry into Inter- 
 national Law, if we were willing to admit that we 
 were capable of improvement. But if we are al- 
 ready at the top of the tree, and if we are only 
 bent upon benefiting our neighbours without the 
 acquisition of any advantages from them, why 
 should we give ourselves this trouble and fatigue ? 
 "Why paint the lily, or perfume the rose ? Ah ! 
 my fellow-countrymen, there's an element of 
 mock-modesty, a vague suspicion at the bottom of 
 you, which you are willing to satisfy ; or a grand 
 self-sufficiency even in your changes, that whatever 
 your fate, you must be English still. There has 
 been a fine new patch or two put into the old 
 garment, where it has been a little rubbed by 
 long use, or where rough hands have soiled and 
 damaged it ; and now we are strengthening the 
 patch and extending its borders. Some think we
 
 4 LORD FALCONBERGS HEIR. 
 
 are treading on delicate ground and may make 
 the rent worse ; but we are a sober, steady set of 
 botcliers, and tbe stitclies will do for a long time 
 to come. It's easier to mend tbe Constitution 
 tlian to make a new one. 
 
 Witb sucli sentiments as these my soul liad 
 not been so sorrowful over the late changes as it 
 might have been, but for one circumstance. The 
 enemy has attacked our stronghold of happy pre- 
 judice, entirely upon the strength of former suc- 
 cesses. Oxford, if not fallen, has been gradually 
 sinking, and brazen tongues talk of terrible things. 
 Our sister-universities, if not for all men, were 
 meant for all time. London, Liverpool, Man- 
 chester, Suburban villages, Rotten boroughs, 
 Ecclesiastical establishments — I write it with a 
 steel pen softened by tears — all carry with them 
 the elements of change. Their increase, their 
 population, their wealth will increase, and the re- 
 sult is obvious even when John Bright shall be 
 no more. But the very stones of Oxford and Cam- 
 bridge cry out against it. Those caps and gowns, 
 those princely stomachs, those high tables, bottles, 
 common rooms, and hebdomadal boards, were 
 never intended to crumble away with the old 
 walls and towers, which must go unless Dr Cum- 
 ming's millennium should save them. Eich mul-
 
 OXFORD AS IT WAS. 
 
 lions^ tracery^ medieval transepts, oak and stone, 
 cany with them the elements of decay ; the cater- 
 pillar and the palmer-worm, and. damp and dust, 
 and the host of destructives, only wait their time 
 to effect an entrance. But what matter ? A 
 Don's a Don for &' that. 
 
 So is an undergraduate, with a difference ; and 
 ungraduates, to say truth, are not altogether what 
 they were. 
 
 It was a lovely morning in the winter of 1841, 
 soft, mild, and genial, when a rather sickly sun 
 poured as much of its beams as could find its 
 way through the trees of the garden and over the 
 wall into the quadrangle of T College, Ox- 
 ford. It was still early morning, and there was 
 peace and quiet among the old walls. The flag- 
 stones were damp with the mists of the past night, 
 and but few footsteps had as yet disturbed their 
 repose. At this moment, however, from the vari- 
 ous little doors which opened upon the pavement 
 came hurriedly down the creaking old staircases 
 some thirty or forty young men, in academicals. 
 By far the greater number were dressed in the 
 scanty black stuff gown (if it may be so far digni- 
 fied) and the trencher cap of the commoner of the 
 university. Half-a-dozen scholars of the College 
 wore surplices, and one remarkably handsome
 
 6 LOED FALCONBERG's HEIE. 
 
 young man made his way to the chapel-door in 
 the full black silk robes and golden-tasselled cap 
 of a nobleman. Mr Trenchard^ the Dean, slipped 
 noiselessly in^, touching his cap in return to the 
 morning salutation of the men ; and in another 
 five minutes the porter had closed the doors of 
 the chapel, and had excluded the idle and un- 
 punctual. 
 
 In another part of the same college, while this 
 scene was enacting, a young man was lying at 
 full length on a small iron bedstead. He seemed 
 to have just awoke from a heavy sleep_, and his 
 scout was pouring cold water into a primitive- 
 looking tub, now so much the fashion in Paris, 
 and the substitute for our modern bath. Certain 
 indications of the previous evening's amusement 
 were present to casual observation. Two packs 
 of cards were on the drawers, a dice-box and one 
 die lay beside them ; and mixed up in confusion 
 with a watch and chain, two or three rings, a 
 bunch of keys, and a cigar case, were two or three 
 Bank of England notes crumpled up carelessly, 
 six or eight sovereigns, and a heap of silver, the 
 greatest part of which consisted of half-crowns. 
 Lying on the floor was a pair of trowsers, of some 
 dark colour, attached by straps to Wellington 
 boots, denoting the impatience with which the
 
 OXFORD AS IT WAS. 7 
 
 wearer liad drawn them off the preceding evening — 
 to speak more correctly^ at an early hour of the 
 present day. In one part of the room, over the 
 back of a chair, lay a black dress-coat and waist- 
 coat — the signs of a demi-toilette — and in another 
 a shirt still decorated with three convolvulus 
 leaves of gold and amethyst, attached to each 
 other by small chains. Such was the fashion of 
 the day. The whole room was suggestive of any- 
 thing but monastic asceticism. 
 
 ' What's the time, Weller ? ' 
 
 ' The gentlemen's just gone into chapel, sir. 
 The bell rung down as I come in, sir.' And 
 Weller began collecting his master's waifs and 
 strays, which at first seemed rather a complicated 
 business. ' Do you hunt this morning, sir ? ' 
 
 ^ No, but Mr Trevelyan and Mr Beauchamp 
 are coming here to breakfast, so you must send 
 for their commons.' 
 
 ' Yes, sir.' Here Mr Falcon's scout gave the 
 cold water a turn in the tub, and pitched in the 
 sponge. ' What time would you like breakfast, 
 sir ? ' 
 
 ' In half-an-hour,' said Mr Falcon, jumping 
 out of bed, as Mr Weller disappeared ; ' and hold 
 hard,' added he, ' get some kidneys and a spread- 
 eagle well devilled from Jubber's directly.'
 
 8 LORD FALCONBERG S HEIR. 
 
 ' YeSj sir. Vdi better borrow Mr Day's break- 
 fast-service, hadn't I ? ' 
 
 ' No ; use your own/ 
 
 ' Please, sir^ we've only got one saucer left. 
 Mr Hickson broke 'em all, skooting with bis air- 
 cane yesterday morning. 
 
 ' Shooting with bis air-cane! ' said the under- 
 graduate with some surprise, and not quite under- 
 standing the explanation. 
 
 ' Yes, sir, be was shooting at a picture of his 
 aunt in his own room, and forgot that yom* scout's 
 room was next to it.' 
 
 ' Then go and get his crockery.' 
 
 ' He's broken it all hisself, sir, long ago.' 
 Saying which Weller shut the bed- room door and 
 departed on his errand. 
 
 The bed-room door opened upon the sitting- 
 room. It was comfortably furnished, lofty, and 
 sufficiently large for all purposes of use and 
 some of luxury. The curtains were of green stuff 
 with a gold fringe or border, the bookcase of 
 polished oak was handsomely furnished with 
 books, which showed some signs of usage, the 
 carpet was of a warm texture and appropriate 
 colour, the table in the middle of the room was 
 yet laden with cigar ashes and ends, empty and 
 half-empty tumblers, a spirit case, two decanters.
 
 OXFORD AS IT WAS. 9 
 
 and a cigar box, containing some thirty or forty 
 regalias. There were two most luxurious arm- 
 chairs and a couch on either side of the fireplace, 
 which had a cheerful fire already smouldering 
 into a white ash, as the fashion of Oxford coals is 
 and used to be. 
 
 The scout had done well to hght the fire 
 first — for it continued to throw out a cheerful 
 warmth — and to boil a kettle, while he spread a 
 clean white table-cloth upon the half-rubbed 
 table, and garnished it with cold ham and fowl 
 and the crockery which belonged to Mr Day : 
 Mr Day, who was just now reading out his essay 
 after chapel at the request of Mr President Wig- 
 ram and his fellow Dons. 
 
 In half-an-hour from the time he got out of 
 bed George Falcon was sitting in one of his 
 easy-chairs waiting the arrival of Trevelyan and 
 Tom Beauchamp. He was not kept long in 
 suspense. First came a kick on the panels of 
 the door, then the handle turned, and the two 
 guests walked in. They were both remarkable 
 in their way. 
 
 Trevelyan was a tall, thin, fair man, scarcely 
 more than boy. He was quiet in manner, but with 
 a prematurely roue look about him, which told of 
 hard life before its time, and his pride in it.
 
 10 LORD FALCONBERG's HEIR. 
 
 Tom Beaucliamp was shorter^ squarer, with 
 an older and harder look about him. He had a 
 straight line of dark whiskers down his cheek ; 
 and a most unaffected joyous smile lighted up his 
 face, as he burst noisily into his friend^s room. 
 They both wore their caps and gowns_, as they 
 had just come out of chapel. 
 
 ' I say_, Falcon, your name was called for your 
 Essay, to read out.-* ' And what did they say ? ' 
 inquired Falcon carelessly. 
 
 ' Long looked disgusted, so did the Presi- 
 dent; and the Dean made a note of it.^ Then 
 Mr Weller walked in with the rest of the break- 
 fast ; split-fowl and truffles, with devilled kidneys. 
 
 ' Please, sir, the Dean wishes to speak to 
 you,' said he, as he proceeded to dispense Mr 
 Jubber's dainties. 
 
 ' Very civil of the Dean : I shall be at home 
 till luncheon.' Here the scout laughed modestly, 
 and added, 
 
 ' He desired me to say that he wished to see 
 you at his room, sir, at ten o'clock.' 
 
 ' Then you go and tell him I'm out.' And 
 Mr Falcon poured out the tea. 
 
 ' These things are deuced uncomfortable,' 
 said Tom Beauchamp at this conjuncture, hitch- 
 ing away at a pair of flannel cricketing trowsers,
 
 OXFORD AS IT WAS. 11 
 
 wliicli lie wore under a rougli pea-jacket of tlie 
 period. 
 
 ' Then take them off/ said Falcon^ laughing, 
 but scarcely expecting that he would do so. 
 
 ' I was just going to/ replied Tom, at the 
 same time throwing open his upper garments, 
 and unbuttoning his braces, with wonderful cool- 
 ness, while his companions looked on with sur- 
 prise. ' I was just going to, and all I hope is 
 that they haven't taken the polish off my boots. 
 Oh no, it's all right,' added he, as stepping out 
 of his flannels, he presented himself in a very 
 neat but workmanlike pair of leathers and tops, 
 and letting fall his cap and gown and overcoat, 
 displayed a swallow-tailed pink, and a blue plush 
 waistcoat, of the fashion of the day. 
 
 ' That's not a bad idea : where are you going, 
 Tom?' 
 
 ' To the Heythrop. Jim Hills is as good as a 
 run, going from cover to cover. Weller, get my 
 hat, please, out of my rooms ; it's on the small 
 table by the window : and now let's cat.' After 
 a pause, he said, ' who do you think I saw at 
 Woodstock yesterday. Falcon ? ' 
 
 ' Haven't the least idea, unless you mean 
 Peggy Jansen.' 
 
 ' Well, I don't — I mean your cousin Harold.'
 
 12 LORD FALCONBERG's HEIR. 
 
 ' Impossible.'' / 
 
 ' Wliy impossible ? He was liere last "week : 
 for lie lost a bundred pounds in Cbrist Churcb/ 
 Here Tom Beaucbamp belped bimself to tobacco. 
 
 ' I didn't know be'd a hundred pence to lose/ 
 said George. 
 
 ' I tbougbt be was tbe monied man of tbe 
 family.' .• 
 
 ' I am at present ; I won seventeen pounds 
 bere last nigbt/ said Falcon, laugbing. ^Wbat 
 took you to bed so early ? ' 
 
 ' Well, I don't play/ replied Beaucbamp. 
 'You fellows can afford it, I suppose. I can't. 
 I find about two days' bunting a-week as mucb 
 as I ca^n manage : and I'm obliged to bire every 
 now and tben to do tbat.' Trevelyan said no- 
 .tbing : gambling was a sore subject to bim. And 
 just tben Tom Beaucbamp' s scout told bim tbat 
 bis back was outside tbe gates; so be prepared 
 to go. 
 
 ' Do you feel sure tbat you saw Harold Falcon 
 yesterday at Woodstock ? ' 
 
 ' Sure : be was not on tbe main road, but 
 riding down tbe lane wbicb runs at right angles 
 to tbe road, about a mile and a half from tbe town. 
 He was on a chestnut with three white legs ? ' 
 
 ' Of course : then he had been out with
 
 OXPOED AS IT WAS. 13 
 
 Drake^ and was going back to Waterpark: lie's 
 always there now^^ replied his cousin. 
 
 ' On the contrary. He wore a great coat, and 
 rode in dark-coloured trowsers. He seemed to be 
 coming from the old farm-house in the fields. 
 I^ve never been introduced to him, but I knew 
 him just as well as I know you.' George Falcon's 
 face grew a shade or two paler, while Tom Beau- 
 champ Stated his impressions of Harold Falcon's 
 presence near Woodstock ; but he was recovering 
 himself rapidly when Tom added in a careless 
 good-humoured way, ' I do believe that's the 
 very house that Peggy Jansen is said to live in, 
 with some old curmudgeon of a father. But 
 Trevelyan will tell you all about that, Falcon; it's 
 more in his line than mine, and I shall be late at 
 cover.' Saying which, putting his hat firmly on 
 his head, and passing the string through the arm- 
 hole of his waistcoat on to one of the buttons, this 
 steady-going lover of the chase left the room.
 
 14 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A SELFISH LOVE. 
 
 No sooner liad the echoes of Tom Beau- 
 champ^s steps died away than the two young men, 
 who remained behind lounging and smoking, 
 looked up at one another with a serious air. 
 Something in the late communication had dis- 
 turbed George Falcon and Trevelyan, to judge of 
 their countenances. 
 
 ' Do you believe it was your cousin Harold 
 that he saw ? ' 
 
 ' I do. He could hardly have been mistaken ; 
 and yet I cannot understand how or why he was 
 there. I know he's at Waterpark, which is only 20 
 miles off"; but he has a very heavy match coming 
 off (for the race is reduced to a match), and I 
 hardly expected to hear of him in this county.' 
 
 ' What could he be doing ? He doesn't train 
 anywhere about there ? ' 
 
 ' Not he : he hasn't a horse of any kind, 
 excepting a couple of hunters which he hired at
 
 A SELFISH LOVE. 15 
 
 Waterpark by tlie month. Tlie wliite-leggcd 
 chestnut is one of them/ 
 
 ' Has he ever seen the girl ? ^ said Trevelyan 
 again, with more appearance of concern than he 
 had yet shown. 
 
 ' Not that I know of. He's never mentioned 
 her.' 
 
 ' Would he have done so, had he known her ? * 
 
 ' Undoubtedly ; he's the greatest fool alive 
 about money and women ; and a perfect sieve as 
 regards both. He has spent every shilling he 
 ever had ; and would tell you every secret he ever 
 knew, whether it concerned himself or his friend.' 
 
 ' You speak feelingly, George, of your cousin's 
 weaknesses : has he ever robbed you of the one or 
 the other ? ' 
 
 ' He never had a chance ; and never shall/ 
 added George Falcon after a pause, setting his 
 teeth, and evidently by his fixed eyes looking into 
 some speculation beyond the present moment. 
 * He never shall have the chance. Harold Falcon 
 is a second brother's son. He has squandered, 
 or given away (which is the same thing), all he 
 ever had, and that was not much ; and as to a 
 woman, I don't suppose he ever cared for anything 
 but a racehorse in his life, though they say 
 there's a woman or two cares for him.'
 
 16 LORD FALCONBERG's HEIR. 
 
 ^Ille ter est felix — Happy dog. AYho's tlie 
 woman ? ' 
 
 ' His cousin, Lady Helen, Lord Falconberg^s 
 daughter, I'm told. When lie's quite done, tliey 
 can retire upon whatever the old lord will give 
 them, and twenty thousand pounds of her own/ 
 
 ' Does he know of his luck ? ' said Trevelyan, 
 yawning. 
 
 ' Not he. Never goes near them, excepting 
 to shoot the covers. He scarcely knows Helen 
 by sight. Besides, she is but a baby after all.' 
 
 ' What's he mean to do, if he's so awfully 
 hard-up as you say ? ' 
 
 ' Oh, just now he's going to break the ring. 
 I believe he's made a wonderful book on the 
 Waterpark steeplechase, by which he stands to 
 win four thousand to nothing. So he says, at 
 least. He did back the Rover at a long price, I 
 believe, and he's been first favourite for some time 
 at a very short one. He's had a good hedge, and 
 the bet was made with Cranstone. What are you 
 going to do, Trevelyan ? ' 
 
 ' I'm going to Charley Simonds's, and then to 
 lecture.' 
 
 ' Will you go to Woodstock with me ? ' 
 inquired Falcon, somewhat eagerly. ' The pictures 
 at Blenheim not beins: the attraction.' f '•
 
 A SELFISH LOVE. 17 
 
 ' Yes ; I don't mind if I do. You want some- 
 body to look after you when you're there.' 
 Falcon blushed — he could still blush — and then 
 laughed uneasily. ' What time will you go ? ' 
 
 ^ After luncheon — two o'clock. We can dine 
 at Dickenson's when we come back : or the Mitre, 
 if you like it better. We're sure to be late for 
 hall.' 
 
 '' Then go to Tom Perrin's, and order a buggy 
 to be at the gates at two — get the old grey if you 
 can.' 
 
 ' All right.' Saying which Trevelyan left the 
 room. 
 
 When he was gone George Falcon got up, 
 and stood a few seconds with his back to the fire. 
 Then he took down a book or two from his 
 shelves, but it would not do. He couldn't read. 
 So he began to think again ; and his thoughts 
 all went one way, or ended in one precipice — it 
 was a precipice — Peggy Jansen and Woodstock. 
 And his cousin Harold. 'What the d — 1 had 
 Harold to do at Woodstock, or within miles of old 
 Jansen's house, if indeed it was he ? ' 
 
 In those days, up to a certain point, university 
 life was very like what it is now, and what it 
 always must be; and which neither Gathorne 
 Hardy nor Mr Gladstone will avail to alter.
 
 18 LORD FALCONBERG's HEIR. 
 
 From ten to twelve, then as now, the hive w^as iu 
 full work. In and out of their little monastic holes, 
 about the quadrangles and about the gardens, 
 came the bees — drones many of them — caps and 
 gowns on their heads, and the signs of knowledge 
 under their arms, anthropophagi (metaphorically 
 there they carried their heads). The time of 
 lecture had arrived : and those who were not en- 
 gaged in chasing the fox, or driving four-in-hand, 
 were usually to be found in attendance. There 
 were certain men with whom the former of these 
 amusements was always a valid and admitted 
 excuse. Tom Beauchamp was one of these. 
 
 ' Where were you yesterday, Mr Beauchamp ? ' 
 said the vice-president and tutor. ' I missed you 
 at my lecture.'' 
 
 ' I beg your pardon, sir : I went to Bicester 
 Windmill,^ replied Tom, who kept his own horse, 
 and had an acknowledged permission from the 
 Parent-Beauchamp to spend a certain time in the 
 field. The eldest son of a fox-huntino: baronet 
 might have done worse. 
 
 ' You might have asked for leave of absence, 
 sir, at all events.'' 
 
 ' I sent my scout, sir, to ask if you wore iu, 
 and I found you were gone out, and not likely to 
 return in time,' said the unabashed.
 
 A SELFISH LOVE. 19 
 
 ' Another time, write a note, sir. You have 
 not encroaclied on your usual allowance of days, I 
 hope/ 
 
 ' I think not, sir/ 
 
 *Nor of horseflesh either, I trust. We are 
 anxious to restrict that pernicious habit of hiring 
 as much as possible, Mr Beauchamp. It's the 
 ruin of men : they never know how much they 
 owe, nor the misery of owing anything till it^s too 
 late. Good-morning. Will you ask Mr Trevelyan 
 to come to my rooms, if you should happen to see 
 him ? ' 
 
 And after awhile Trevelyan came, the 
 youngest son of a younger son, of good birth, and 
 no expectations beyond hard work in the colonies, 
 or still harder in the Temple, for which he was 
 fitting himself by self-indulgence and dissipation. 
 
 ' I must ask you to write out yesterday's 
 lecture, Mr Trevelyan ; the habit of neglecting it 
 is increasing in the college, and must be noticed.' 
 
 ' I beg your pardon, sir, I was out hunting ; 
 and should have asked you if you had been in 
 college in the morning.' 
 
 ' Were you riding your own horse, Mr Trevel- 
 yan, or a hired one ? ' 
 
 ' A hired one, sir.' 
 
 ' Does Dr Trevelyan approve of your hunting ? '
 
 20 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 ' ^He allows it when Pm dowrij sir/ replied 
 Trevelyan triumphantly. 
 
 ' On hired horses at two guineas a day, with 
 a hack at a shilling a mile^ six shillings the man's 
 expenses, and a dinner at an hotel in the evening? 
 Scarcely, I think, sir. Will you spare me five 
 minutes' conversation, Trevelyan,' says his tutor 
 in an altered and kinder tone. ' Sit down, if 
 you have time ; if not, come to me in the evening 
 after hall.' And Trevelyan sits down, and his 
 tutor points out to him the evil course he has 
 entered upon — shows him the difference between 
 himself and the Beauchamps — reminds him of the 
 prospects of the one and the other — and excuses 
 the authorities of Alma Mater for being all things 
 to all men. It makes an impression on some for 
 the time, on some for eternity. When the seed 
 and the ground were well selected, in the middle 
 of all our barrenness, it was the sprouting moment 
 of much good fruit. 
 
 When Trevelyan left Falcon's rooms, he went 
 to Charles Simond's stables, and engaged a horse 
 for the next Saint's- day. There were more 
 prayers and no lectures on those days, so they 
 were devoted to hunting with impunity. Tom 
 Beauchamp rode sixteen miles to cover in an hour 
 and a quarter. All who were in college imagined
 
 A SELFISH LOVE. 21 
 
 themselves busy until twelve o'clock, and then 
 they began to think of luncheon, oyster patties, 
 hot kidneys, Stilton cheese, and bottled stout ; 
 and the last dun sneaked out as the first pastry- 
 cook's boy entered. 
 
 On the day in question neither the dean, nor 
 the principal, nor any of the tutors sent for Mr 
 Trevelyan to advise him or to impose him. The 
 first had been tried without great success, when 
 he was supposed to be more amenable to impres- 
 sion ; the latter had been found to be almost as 
 expensive as the hunting and tandem-driving it 
 was meant to rectify ; and put sovereigns by the 
 score into the pocket of Bendell the hatter, who 
 made a handsome thing out of the Bible-clerks, 
 servitors, and middle men. Indeed a poor college 
 would be a useful institution if things go on so 
 now. 
 
 Dress is said to have a moral effect upon man. 
 If it be true — and I can scarcely doubt it — that a 
 gentleman in dirty boots, a ragged coat, and badly- 
 made trowsers, feels himself less a gentleman 
 than heretofore, then it is true that a diSerence 
 of style portrays or creates a difference of char- 
 acter. So great is the alteration in this respect 
 that five-and-twenty years have produced, that it 
 is worth while to note the toilette of an Oxford
 
 22 LOED falconberg's heir. 
 
 man of the period of which, we are speaking, lest 
 in a few years' time no recollection of it shall re- 
 main^ and the fashion shall have become as obso- 
 lete as the old stage-coach and the science of 
 driving it. 
 
 Trevelyan was a fair average specimen of the 
 university mode of thirty years ago ; and as he 
 prepared for his drive to Woodstock it was mani- 
 fest that he was taking some pains to appear to 
 the best advantage. Let us look at him as he 
 emerged from his bed-room in search of his hat 
 and gloves. 
 
 He was tall and a good figure ; and without 
 any pretensions to beauty looked like a gentleman. 
 Moses and Son^ and Nicholls and Co., did not 
 then exist ; or if they did^ cheap and ready-made 
 clothing had not yet reached the Universities. 
 It would have been as impossible for his valet to 
 have looked like a gentleman as it would have 
 been absurd for him to have dressed himself like 
 his valet. His boots were known as Wellingtons 
 of the best make, of patent leather, and as much 
 made for ornament as for use. Indeed, here I 
 am reminded of the great Mr Last, and an anec- 
 dote of those times : 'Boots not wear well? bless 
 my heart, sir, you have been walking in those 
 boots :' and so he had, and so did we, and so did
 
 A SELFISH LOVE. 23 
 
 Trevelyan. Tliey were not so well fitted for 
 that as for liis foot^ but tliey were not like tlie 
 clodhoppers in wliicli Young England rejoices 
 now, and against which the stones in the High- 
 street cry out. His trowsers fitted him as they 
 could have fitted no one else, and were strapped 
 closely over his instep by a piece of the cloth 
 which buttoned under the arch of his well-turned 
 foot. The trowsers were cut straight, and among 
 well-dressed men indulged in no ins and oiits 
 about the leg. Such things had been, but were 
 not at the time that Trevelyan made his toi- 
 lette. What shall I say in praise of his coat ? 
 a frock-coat of course. It fitted him too, which 
 is more than can be said of coats since Members 
 of Parliament have taken to making them. It 
 was of a soft flexible cloth, with a roughish nap, 
 and a velvet collar. It was buttoned closely 
 from the waist upwards towards the throat, show- 
 ing to advantage the clean and manly figure of 
 the wearer ; and only sufiiciently open to exhibit 
 a neat tie of black and gold, finished by an elabo- 
 rate pin — adeatVs head of gold and enamel, joined 
 to a cross-bones by a small chain. His neck was 
 not the vulture-like affair which obtains in modern 
 days, nor did he scud under bare polls — a fashion 
 which semi-Byronic affectation has crossed with
 
 24 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 continental foppeiy. It was decently enfolded 
 in a clean well-starched linen collar (not dog- 
 collar), which reached the level of the incipient 
 whisker, and terminated near the point of the 
 chin on either side. Such was Trevelyan as he 
 came from his afternoon toilette to drive with his 
 friend George Falcon : can any modern under- 
 graduate say as much, or declare that he ever 
 gave the same attention to please other people as 
 to gratify his own lazy indifference. 
 
 As he took up his hat — ah ! I had nearly for- 
 gotten — you might have looked long through 
 
 every room in T before you would have seen 
 
 a billy-cock, a sombrero, a felt, a coal-heaver, or 
 a wide-awake. A Lincoln and Bennett, or mine 
 ancient friends, Locke or Andre, served our turn. 
 And the old chimney-pot, the despised of your 
 young athletes, and the football of your Reform 
 demonstrations, was worn for everything but to 
 beat a cover, or pull in a racing-boat. The latter 
 amusement was not the fashion in those days, but 
 we flattered ourselves we could ride. As he took 
 up one of his hats, for there were about half-a- 
 dozen in different stages of consumption from the 
 severity of the drag, and some falls with the 
 Heythrop and Drake, and a generally wet season.
 
 A SELFISH LOVE. 25 
 
 he looked like an Englisli gentleman fulfilling the 
 objects of a university career. 
 
 ' Are you ready^ Falcon ? ' 
 
 ' Very nearly ; let me get a shawl ; we shall 
 be late, and the nights are cold — and — yes — it^s 
 all right, the cigars are in my great-coat pocket.'' 
 Saying which the two leisurely left the college. 
 
 There was nothing remarkable in Woodstock 
 in those days. A quaint little country town, with 
 scarcely a street in it ; an old town-hall and a 
 market-place, and a few public-houses and hotels 
 for the coaches, of which inns the principal was 
 the ' Bear.' Mine host was a cheerful good fellow, 
 who brewed excellent egg-flip on a cold day, and 
 knew an Oxford man instinctively. The trade of 
 the town was not great, and the business was only 
 brisk for half-an-hour a day, when the ' Defiance ' 
 dined and changed horses, or when thirty or forty 
 undergraduates got on their hacks, leaving their 
 horses, jaded and dirty with the white mud of 
 the Oxfordshire hills, to come on after their gruel. 
 But there was a trade, and its sole representative 
 apparently was one Thomas Brown, and that trade 
 was ' gloves ' — men's, women's, and children's 
 gloves — and all other articles of wear in white 
 leather : Woodstock we called it.
 
 26 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 At five o'clock in tlie afternoon in question, 
 there turned into Thomas Brown's shop two young 
 men ; there being ah'eady no less than four lean- 
 ing over the counter, and three more discussing 
 the beauty of Polly Brown, outside of the door, 
 preparatory to investing in gloves, braces, or 
 some useless little present of female apparel ; for 
 it's difficult to say what there was not to be found 
 ready made in Woodstock leather. 
 
 The four men leaning over the counter were 
 breaking a lance with stout Mrs Brown and her 
 daughter Polly ; and there was so much of laugh- 
 ter and trying on of gloves and recommendation of 
 goods, that the new comers waited a minute or 
 two unheeded, but not for long. An inner door 
 opened, through the glass of which a view into 
 the front shop was easily obtained, and then 
 came forward and took her seat in a vacant chair 
 in the corner, a person, whom it would be difficult 
 to forget, having once seen. Her face grew a 
 shade paler at first, as she came in, but it was 
 again suffused with a deeper red, and her eyes 
 filled with conscious tears, as she and one of the 
 new customers looked at one another. Trevelyan, 
 for it was he and Falcon, turned away from the 
 two, and lounging with his back to the counter, 
 continued to watch with a satirical smile the
 
 A SELFISH LOVE. 27 
 
 open flirtation with, tlie four men who were un- 
 known to him. Falcon and the girl whispered a 
 few words to one another, and she then began 
 to make pretence of searching for some gloves 
 that would fit him. 
 
 While he was trying the gloves listlessly, she 
 might have been seen to write a line or two upon 
 a piece of note-paper, and, folding it hastily, to 
 push it towards the young man. George took it 
 apparently unperceived ; and leaving the gloves 
 on the counter, with the exception of one pair, 
 he regarded the girl once more with a look of 
 great affection, nodded to Mrs Brown, and left the 
 shop. 
 
 ' Trevelyan, are you going to do anything for 
 an hour or two ? I can't go yet, old fellow, and 
 we can't dine now.' 
 
 ' Not very well, certainly, but I'm going into 
 the park to speak to one of the keepers about a 
 dog of mine, which he professed to break for me. 
 "What time shall we start ? It's dark at six.' 
 
 ' I'll be ready at seven ; there's a moon ; and 
 we shall be back by eight.' Saying which George 
 Falcon lounged into the stable, and Trevelyan 
 went in search of the keeper. 
 
 It was just getting dark — so dark as to render 
 it difficult to distinguish persons unless well
 
 28 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 known — as a well-dressed woman turned silently 
 out of Woodstock towards Banbury. Slie looked 
 neither to tlie right nor left until she reached a 
 grass lane with a gate half opened at the end, and 
 leading apparently only towards the fields. Here 
 she stopped a moment, and raised her veil stealth- 
 ily, looking back along the road she had come, 
 -and then endeavouring to penetrate the twilight 
 towards the field. 
 
 In the latter direction she thought she distin- 
 guished the outline of a man's figure, and turning 
 abruptly through the gate, she hurried towards 
 it. She was right; a hundred yards up the lane 
 her lover — for such he professed to be — was wait- 
 ing for Peggy Jansen. 
 
 He passed his hand through her arm, pressing 
 it kindly, and walked by her side for a few paces 
 in silence. 
 
 ' So you are come, Margaret, at last,' said 
 George Falcon. 
 
 ' Always, as I have promised,' replied the girl, 
 with an accent and manner slightly foreign ; ' but 
 you have waited — I couldn't help it, I was wanted.' 
 
 ' Oh, not long,' said he, however, with a some- 
 what injured air; ' but it always apjaears tedious 
 when waiting for you,' in the same breath mak- 
 ing the amende. The first ebullition was very
 
 A SELFISH LOVE. 29 
 
 natural to liim_, perhaps the last not less so. 
 
 Then he spoke very kindly to her of things 
 concerning himself, and afterwards on ordinary 
 subjects ; but to these last she answered never a 
 word. She only clung closer to George as they 
 walked very slowly^ stopping underneath an old 
 straggling hedgerow and dilapidated wall, which 
 rose on their left hand, and which enclosed par- 
 tially some large grazing grounds, once an old 
 park or pleasaunce. Once or twice George 
 thought he detected a sob, but pretended not to 
 have heard it, as indeed it was much suppressed, 
 for he was a man who liked nobody^s blue devils 
 but his own ; and though he thought he loved, or 
 said to himself that he loved Margaret Jansen, he 
 didn't like her tears. 
 
 ' Turn back, George, we mustn't go any far- 
 ther this way,' said the girl. 
 
 ' And why not this way ? ' inquired George 
 Falcon. 
 
 ' That's my home down in the hollow, and ii 
 my father should see us — ' 
 
 ' What then, Margaret ? ' 
 
 ' He would kill you, perhaps, and me certainly ; ' 
 and she clung closer to him, as if she partially 
 realized the impression. 
 
 ' I think not, Peggy. I can take care of my-
 
 fSO LORD FALCONBERG's HEIR. 
 
 self at all events ; and why sliould he kill me ? ' 
 
 ' If he knew all — ' and to any one who could 
 have seen the faces through the dusk of early 
 evening, his would have seemed paler, and hers 
 burning with a conscious blush. 
 
 ' But why need he know all ? ' But Margaret 
 Jansen hid her face against her lover's shoulder, 
 and sobbed convulsively. Then George Falcon 
 stopt, and spoke soothingly to the poor girl till 
 she was calmer. 
 
 ' George, George, there is but one way, and 
 you promised. You must marry me, now indeed 
 you must ; ' and she continued to sob, hiding her 
 lovely face against his shoulder still. But George 
 didn't answer ; and as Margaret became redder 
 and redder he only became paler and colder. 
 
 At length he said, closely pressed upon the 
 subject : ' Marry ! ah, Peggy ; ' and here he 
 sighed, ' if you only knew the difficulties. Wait, 
 dearest, you must wait. How should we live, and 
 I not through my degree.' Then the girl raised 
 her head, and her clasp grew less tight, and for 
 the first time an impression was left upon Peggy 
 Jansen that she never knew George Fellowes (he 
 had told her that that was his name) until now. 
 Her confidence in his promise had never been 
 shaken until this moment. It mio-ht have been
 
 A SELFISH LOVE. 31 
 
 that slie had never urged it so strongly, or clung 
 to its fulfilment with such absolute necessity. Her 
 blushes were gone, and had given place to the 
 pallor of fear. She bore his caresses now rather 
 than met them. 
 
 ' And when shall I see you again, Margaret ? ' 
 said he as he wandered on by the old broken 
 wall, thinking more of himself and the conse- 
 quences to him of his wickedness, than of her 
 and the ruin to her consequent upon her weak- 
 ness. 
 
 ' You know where to find me, George, every 
 day, and all day long. If not, come and look for 
 me at home. But not now. Be careful, George, 
 my mother suspects me ; and if my father knows 
 it, I have no other hope but you.' They had wan- 
 dered on during these last few words farther 
 than they had yet come, when the girl suddenly 
 stopt, suppressed a scream which rose to her lips, 
 and motioned George Falcon to fall behind her. 
 A low door at the farther end of the Avail, with 
 which he was unacquainted, had opened, and 
 throuofh the darkness a huo-e fig-ure, made still 
 larger by the peculiar conditions of the atmo- 
 sphere, suddenly crossed the path. ' Hush ! My 
 father,' whispered she ; ' back, behind me, adieu, 
 quick, away as fast as you can. George was no
 
 32 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 coward, sa,ve as far as liis conscience made liim 
 so ; but Peggy's terror imparted itself to liim, 
 and lie began to retreat, as the enormous figure 
 in tlie distance came slowly towards the girl. 
 
 If George, as he gained the road in safety, had 
 honestly put his feelings into words he might 
 have said, ' Poor girl, that was a disagreeable, 
 but fortunate interruption, for I should never 
 have got away.' 
 
 ' All right, Trevelyan,' said he walking into 
 the parlour of the ^Bear,' and ringing the bell for 
 the ostler. 
 
 ' So it ought to be, for Pve been waiting three 
 quarters of an hour. I felt strongly inclined to 
 start without you,' replied Trevelyan, good-hu- 
 mouredly. 
 
 ' Why didn't you then ? I should,' said the 
 other ungraciously. 
 
 ' I can easily believe it.' And so they drove 
 back to Oxford. 
 
 Nevertheless, George Falcon did love the girl 
 after his selfish fashion, and was always pining 
 after her when he was away from her. He wasn't 
 a favourite with men, and missed Margaret's ex- 
 pressions of affection, hasty and stolen as they 
 were.
 
 33 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 PEGGY JANSEN. 
 
 The going back reminds one of an Irishman's 
 mode of progression in the mud ; but disagree- 
 able as it isj it is necessary to do so for the clear 
 intelligence of our story. 
 
 As Peggy Jansen has something to do with 
 the interests of the principal persons concerned^ 
 the reader will be glad to know who she was, 
 and how she came into the position in which we 
 find her. 
 
 Her father, Bernhard Jansen, was a very ex- 
 traordinary j)erson, and his adventures would 
 almost have furnished matter for a novel of them- 
 selves. We may take another opportunity of 
 gratifying any curiosity on the part of our readers. 
 At present he is subordinate to those with whom 
 he is acting. 
 
 He was of Dutch extraction, but had become 
 a naturalized German, living in Nuremberg, and 
 supporting himself by an extraordinary talent fur
 
 34 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 Avood-carving^ at tlie time lie fell in with liis wife, 
 the mother of his only child, Margaret. He was 
 a man of gigantic stature, of great strength, of a 
 saturnine humour rather than a reallj evil dis- 
 position, and of much taste and even genius in 
 his callino-. He was known to have been a smugf- 
 gler, and it was thought a pirate ; and the peace- 
 able Nurembergers said, whatever they believed, 
 that der Herr Jansen had sold himself to the 
 devil. Perhaps he had : if so, that mysterious pur- 
 chaser of bad bargains had not given much for 
 him, unless the money had gone somewhere else, 
 for with all the exercise of his craft Herr Bernhard 
 remained but poor. 
 
 In the matter of women he was not specula- 
 tive, and Frau Jansen was the first he had 
 affected. She was an English woman, as remark- 
 able in her way as he in his, and accepted him 
 most unconditionally. She had followed the for- 
 tunes of an English family who lived at Stuttgard, 
 and when they returned to England had chosen 
 to remain behind, as the show-woman in one of 
 those toy and curiosity shops so numerous in the 
 old cities of Germany. She was an astute, clever 
 woman, master of herself, which is much, and of 
 other people, which is more, and of her husband, 
 which is most. Still, after a time, wath all his
 
 PEGGY JANSEN. 35 
 
 talents and liers too, tliey didn^t get on. They lost 
 money : and Bernhard Jansen was not the man to 
 sit calmly by and see his all go without a sti-ug- 
 gle. He tried the bourse as a last resource, and 
 that failed. 
 
 ' My dear, the air of Nuremberg is not good 
 for me.^ 
 
 ' Then let us go/ said she without a murmur. 
 
 'What, and give up our business here?^ 
 
 'No, but sell it.^ And as they kept their 
 secret, and Bernhard had acquired a reputation, 
 they didn't leave Nuremberg empty-handed. 
 They spoiled the Egyptians before leaving. 
 
 ' And where shall we go, liebe Frau ? ' 
 
 ' Let us try England. I have friends there.' 
 And in a few weeks they landed. He, she, and 
 her little daughter, the Peggy of whom we write. 
 
 It so happened that at that time a taste for old 
 carving was being cultivated. The taste was not 
 yet purely ritualistic ; but Oxford had commenced 
 a movement, which combined high art with re- 
 ligion. Bernhard had none of the latter, any 
 more than his wife, but he had much of the 
 former. So much that Wardour Street gave him 
 high wages, and he might have done well. For 
 the world, that is, the antiquarian world, liked 
 his humour as well as his work. But he would
 
 36 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 gamble. He tried eveiytliing : the Stock Ex- 
 change^ the hells of the quadrant^ the race-course. 
 Having boi-rowed then as much as he could^ he 
 took to lending — this was his wife^s suggestion. 
 They began to grow rich, which men soon do who 
 lend a little money at sixty per cent. But the 
 professional money-lenders didn^t like him ; 
 and his size made him conspicuous. He began 
 to be known in the courts, and an awkward case 
 or two among subalterns in the army did him no 
 good. It was time to beat a retreat. 
 
 Bernhard felt no intense admiration for Frau 
 Jansen, but he loved his little daughter Margaret, 
 who was growing into a beauty. He consulted 
 his friends, and he heard of a tumble-down farm- 
 house ten miles from Oxford, where he might be 
 out of the way of some importunate creditors, and 
 yet work diligently at his calling. The house was 
 to be had at a nominal rent. It was of no e'reat 
 value ; large and commodious, out of repair, every 
 room in it big enough for a workshop. Frau 
 Jansen, too, had an idea ; and as it involved am- 
 bitious thoughts for her daughter, that neigh- 
 bourhood did as well as, or better than, another. 
 
 Frau Jansen thought that her daughter might 
 marry a gentleman. She was quite good-looking 
 enough for it ; and, as the manner of foreigners
 
 PEGGY JANSEN. 37 
 
 is, her education liad fitted lier for it. In the 
 mean time she must help them to live : there 
 must be no drones in the hive. It was not 
 difficult. The trade of Woodstock furnished 
 the means. The girl was quick and handy : she 
 became valuable as a skilful glover j and her 
 beautj made her acceptable to Mrs Brown, as 
 an attraction. Oxford went' raving mad after 
 Woodstock gloves, capes, pelerines, and tippets^ 
 bordered with lace ; and Peggy Jansen became 
 the reigning toast. But Peggy had been taught 
 to carry her pitcher to the well without breaking 
 it, and for some time she succeeded. 
 
 The farm was a dull house; and Bernhard 
 Jansen's mode of life did not tend to enliven it. 
 Sometimes he felt dull himself, and then he 
 called for his daughter as King Cole would have 
 called for his beer. 
 
 ' Mother, what good does Peggy at our friend 
 the glover^ s V 
 
 ' Mind your own business. Giant.' 
 
 ' Sapperment ! it is mine own business. What 
 makes the girl there V said he, in his own idiom. 
 
 ' She makes money, and that's something. 
 Every little helps.' 
 
 * But I don't want the little helps : I prefer 
 Peggy.' And Herr Jansen was not far wrong,
 
 38 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 for at eigliteen Peggy was a very charming girl. 
 
 'Attend to your carving, Giant. I tell you 
 tlie girl will do w^ell enough. There's scores of 
 them coming to see our Madge every term. It 
 isn't gloves or tippets they want : wait a bit — ' 
 
 ' Wait a bit, indeed. What's that ? Don't 
 let me hear that, Mrs Jansen. Would you sell 
 your own flesh and blood for a mess of pottage ? 
 Verdanime inich, will they marry my daughter ? ' 
 And Jansen rose, dashing down the tools with 
 which he was working. 
 
 ' Will they marry your daughter ? — and why 
 not, pray ? I suppose they may look at her first. 
 A cat may look at a king. There, go on work- 
 ing : don't be alarmed about Margaret while 
 she's with me?' The giant retired growding, 
 like a disturbed and incredulous mastifi" as he 
 looks at the butcher's boy, and sees that, if 
 not a thief, he is at least the representative 
 of one. 
 
 But time reconciles man to much. It recon- 
 ciled Bernhard Jansen to his wife's arguments, 
 and to the fact of his daughter doing something 
 for her livelihood. Life is uncertain ; and though 
 he had good employment and wages, and could 
 find money for other jjeople, the Old Farm, as it 
 was called, became more dilapidated, Frau Jansen
 
 PEGGY JANSEN. 39 
 
 had less money in tlie old stocking, and tlie carver 
 did not improve in temper as in times of pros- 
 perity. 
 
 We come now to an extraordinary 'page in 
 Jansen^s life, and to its explanation. When em- 
 ployed as a professional gambler, and a race- 
 commissioner, he had made a large but mixed 
 acquaintance. A stentor, of some six feet six in 
 height, and of proportionate circumference, can 
 scarcely shout ' Seven to one, bar one,' for many 
 weeks without being noticed and known. Jan- 
 sen was known, and known favourably. And he 
 was known favourably because, though not a for- 
 tunate man nor a rich one, he would wait for his 
 money. And he had many opportunities of 
 practising patience. For either the times were 
 bad (they always are so), or the morals of the 
 rising generation were bad : and when they 
 ought to have paid their losses, they were always 
 desiring to negotiate bills. And by some means 
 or other, quite inexplicable to himself, and there- 
 fore to his wife and other people, Bernhard Jan- 
 sen got into the way of discounting them. He 
 would have made money, but he had none ; or 
 spent it as soon as he could get it : and in the 
 matter of money he only acted as the agent of 
 other people. He was popular with his custom-
 
 40 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 ers ; and the men liked to come to liis house to 
 look at his carving and his pictures, his curiosi- 
 ties and his daughter. 
 
 ' Where's that' money going to. Giant ? It's 
 wanted here.' 
 
 ' That's going to a great swell. Dame Jansen, 
 to pay his book.' 
 
 ' And what do you call a great swell ? ' 
 
 ' He has no money and many friends. Their 
 name is good.' 
 
 ' You mean legion.' 
 
 ' No, I mean good — good to sound and good 
 to write. They look well upon paper, and my 
 friends like them in the city.' So Bernhard 
 Jansen became and continued a bill-discounter ; 
 receiving sixty per cent, for other people, and 
 getting five for himself, with all the credit of the 
 transaction. 
 
 And this is how Peggy Jansen found herself 
 at Mrs Brown's, cutting out, or rather sewing, 
 Woodstock leather, and the admiration of the 
 undergraduates, who buzzed round her, like flies 
 round a honey-pot, till they found there was no 
 reciprocity of attachment. Then they turned to 
 the responsive beauties of Jane Brown and her 
 sister, who regarded all undergi'aduates as made 
 for the conversion of their silver into Browns.
 
 PEGGY JANSEN. 41 
 
 But Peggy^s was a position of much tempta- 
 tion : and though perseverance even in such pur- 
 suits is not a speciality of university life, which 
 rather deals with the innocence of butterfly per- 
 secution than determined siege ; still that im- 
 munity from danger which is said to arise from 
 numbers is in these cases wanting : and a spuri- 
 ous imitation, called passion, sometimes usurps 
 the place and fulfils the office of a holy love. 
 It must not be supposed that Mrs Jansen had 
 thus knowingly exposed her daughter to such 
 dangers. She was a clever and a cunning woman ; 
 and overreached herself for lack of that worldly 
 experience, which never belongs to women in her 
 class of life. Experimentally she knew nothing 
 of such temptations : had she known them it 
 would only have been to have laughed at them : 
 and to say truth, she scarcely believed in their 
 existence. Those who fell she thought to be 
 radically bad, which she knew. Peggy was not ; 
 and those who failed an attaining an honourable 
 pre-eminence among their equals, she believed to 
 want the foresight and the attractions which 
 Peggy possessed. Mrs Jansen was a schemer; 
 but not so deliberately wicked as she ought to 
 have been for her punishment. 
 
 For it is a melancholy truth that Margaret fell
 
 42 LORD falconbeeg's heir. 
 
 in love, not with an open-hearted, soft-headed^ 
 inexperienced rattlebrain as she might have done, 
 and followed her mother's prescription of marry- 
 ing him out of hand, and calling herself a lady 
 for life, but with a hard selfish nature, who was 
 sure to turn his conquest to his own account, 
 without regard to her. From the beginning he 
 had schemed as deeply as the mother, and so 
 safely that it was no hard-fought battle. He 
 gave her no opportunity of withdrawing her queen 
 before it was checked and taken. He had given 
 a wrong name, he had promised all that she could 
 have asked for, and to the last moment she be- 
 lieved her betrayer. He might have believed too 
 in his will to fulfil all his promises, for he was in 
 love as such men are. But circumstances were 
 much against him. He was not his own master 
 in the eye of the world, though uncontrolled or 
 nearly so by positive ties. He could have made 
 an honest man of himself — the world would have 
 called it making an honest woman of poor Peggy — 
 if he had pleased. But there were obstacles and 
 feelings that required fighting, and that fighting 
 was not to be done by a soldier who had only 
 trained himself to run away. ' Because I have 
 been a blackguard, shall I forsooth be a fool too? 
 And yet, poor girl, what beauty it is ; and if it
 
 PEGGY JANSEN. 48 
 
 could only be liuslied up, why slioulduH I be 
 happy with her ? I^m sure I shall never love 
 any one as I do Peggy. And what are my pros- 
 pects after all? The colonies ! well, why not? 
 There are too many of us Falcons about in this 
 country to get a loaf apiece/ With which vague 
 notions he lit a cigar and began to think, as he 
 urged Trevelyan to get on faster. Margaret went 
 home on the arm of her father, whose ominous 
 silence boded no measured lang^uao-e when he 
 should think fit to speak.
 
 44 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 OUR HERO, SUCH AS HE IS. 
 
 Among those wliose necessities liad brought 
 them in contact with Herr Jansen, was one of 
 whom we shall hear more as the story progresses. 
 He was one of many, but with his idiosyncrasies, 
 which make him an interesting study of a rather 
 uninteresting class. Harold Falcon belonged 
 to the aristocracy, Eton, Oxford, the Guards. 
 There was a time when such antecedents 
 might have impressed the world favourably. 
 They have the elements of cheerfulness, in- 
 tellect, fashion, heroism. But now we want 
 mystery, gloom, crime, improbability. And if 
 we can only plead that the facts be taken from 
 real life, that the poisoner was our own famihar 
 friend, that the mystery belonged to a real cup- 
 board, and the arsenical mixture to a living 
 chemist, what revision shall be bold enough to 
 take us to task ? Who shall say that slow poison 
 is not the universal curse (like Latin verse) of
 
 OUR HERO, SUCH AS HE IS. 45 
 
 ^67, or ttat tlie normal condition of society is not 
 death, by fire or suffocation in a well. 
 
 But in '41 it was not so. Men and women, 
 that is, ladies and gentlemen, died in their beds, 
 or intended to do so. They did odd things — they 
 spent too much money ; they went first to the 
 Jews and then to the dogs; they formed question- 
 able connections, or married as they should uot ; 
 they robbed one another ; became unexpectedly 
 rich, unexpectedly poor; they gambled, they 
 raced, but they lived in good houses, and were 
 to be found in the pale of society. The common 
 vices of the great world were neither bigamy, 
 larceny, nor murder; and when noblemen and 
 gentlemen are concerned in such things, depend 
 upon it the cases are exceptional. 
 
 It is but fair to the coming generations to 
 declare thus much. We have read of Corporal 
 Trim, Matthew Bramble, Parson Trulliber, and 
 we know that they existed as they are represented 
 to have done. Fielding and Smollett painted 
 society as they knew it : sometimes bad, some- 
 times good, but never impossible. The present 
 fashion of writers is different. You may meet 
 with living men and women of the nineteenth 
 century — murderers, bigamists, poisoners, to be 
 sure : but I shall direct my grandchildren to go
 
 46 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 elsewhere tlian to the novels of the present day, 
 if they want to form a correct estimate of the 
 society in which their grandfather moved. Not 
 that I would have my readers by any means to 
 imagine that what I write has positively taken 
 place : I desire neither to detract from my own 
 reputation as an inventor, nor from the reputation 
 of society, as it is, by pretending to represent 
 even the outlines of a family history. I shall be 
 happy to travel within the probabilities of ordi- 
 nary life ; taking an exceptional case here and 
 there, and making the conduct of my dramatis 
 personce consistent with their education, tempera- 
 ment, circumstances, or temptations. It will give 
 me no jileasure to turn round upon my critic and 
 declare that facts are true and authentic, when 
 the characteristics of my actors do not lead up to 
 an inference of my facts. 
 
 Do not flatter yourself therefore, my friend, 
 that you are Harold Falcon ; or that you or I ever 
 knew him in the flesh. I may know his type, so 
 may you ; you may yourself be he, for what I 
 know or care. I hope you are ; there are worse 
 men and better. I hope still more that you have 
 avoided his vices, and clung to his virtues ; for 
 he saw the error of his ways before he died, and 
 lived cleanly.
 
 OUR HERO, SUCH AS HE IS. 47 
 
 But just now we have to do witli liis early 
 life; witli liis introduction to BernHard Jansen, 
 which can hardly imply ecclesiastical asceticism. 
 
 I mean, of course, the asceticism of the 
 
 party. He came from Eton young, having 
 neither father nor mother ; only an aristocratic, 
 high-minded, middle-aged, fox-hunting peer for a 
 guardian, who had four boys and one girl of his 
 own to look after. He spent his best days at 
 Hawkestone Castle, with his cousin Hawkestone, 
 and the young Falcons, older and about the same 
 age as himself. Lady Helen was the youngest, 
 but what with absence and the governess, he 
 saw little enough of her. There was his younger 
 cousin George too, and a sister of his own. They 
 were all at the castle, and all welcome to whatever 
 the castle afforded — ponies, horses, dogs, keepers, 
 claret, books, pocket-money, and the run of their 
 teeth. 
 
 When he left Eton, he left behind him a re- 
 markable character, not so much with the masters 
 as with his school-fellows and the old camp- 
 followers of the school. He had all along seen 
 that any acquaintance he might make with the 
 masters would cease with his school-days, while 
 the others were to last him his life. He was a 
 great favourite, and possessed of exactly those
 
 48 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 qualities whicli were likely to make kirn so. 
 Every kero ougkt to be a great man if ke be 
 not a good one ; and tkere is a great difference 
 between tke two. A kero wko is neitker tke one 
 nor tke otker, skould at least kave some of tke 
 ckaracteristics of greatness or goodness. Harold 
 Falcon kad one of tkese at all events. He pos- 
 sessed a recklessness and a courage wkick made 
 kim many admirers if tkey produced fewer imi- 
 tators. Perkaps it is as well tkat tkis latter was 
 tke case. An anecdote at eack epock of kis early 
 life will be sufficient to convince tke reader tkat 
 wkatever ke became as a man ke was a remarkable 
 boy. It was Harold Falcon wko was caugkt 
 smoking, wken tkat virtue was rarer tkan it kas be- 
 come since, and upon being questioned by tke cele- 
 brated Dr Keate, assured kim tkat it was for corns. 
 His comrades, caugkt like himself flagrante delicto, 
 kung tkeir keads and were silent, or replied witk 
 more trutk, but less recklessness, ' notking, sir.' 
 His advent at tke university was not tkat of a 
 common man. He entered Ckrist Ckurck witk 
 a terrier at kis keels and a sack on kis back ; and 
 witkin kis first kour — otkers talk of tkeir first 
 term — ke kad assembled some ckoice old Etonians, 
 for wkose pleasure ke drew tke badger in kis bed- 
 room. Suck a manifest talent for scrapes could not
 
 OUR HERO, SUCH AS HE IS. 49 
 
 live under a busliel ; and by the time lie liad won 
 a college steeplechase or two, and had shown the 
 dark-blue first in the inter- university steeplechase 
 in the vale of Aylesbury, the college authorities 
 seemed to think he had done enough to ensure 
 him a degree somewhere else ; and without pro- 
 ceeding to expulsion recommended Lord Falcon- 
 berg to remove his nephew's name from the books. 
 Not, as they observed parenthetically, that he 
 could not have taken a most respectable position 
 in the schools, but that his tastes were scarcely 
 consistent with that future which high academical 
 honours point to, but do not necessarily achieve. 
 The Bench of Bishops, the Ermine, the Houses 
 of Parliament, and the Bar, have, it is true, 
 exhibited much and profound scholarship — the 
 result of Eton and Harrow, Oxford and Cam- 
 bridge; but those cases have been almost uni- 
 versally dissociated from badger-baiting and 
 steeplechasing while in statu inipillari ; and the 
 only point in which we detect any similitude be- 
 tween the two cases, is the rather remote one of 
 corns. 
 
 ' Harold,' said Lord Falconberg, leaning back 
 in an easy- chair in his library, while his nephew 
 stood with his hand upon the table a little dis- 
 tance off, * Fve had some little difficulty, but I 
 
 VOL. I. 4
 
 50 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 have succeeded, at tlie War Office, and you are 
 gazetted to tlie Fusileer Guards. Hawkestone 
 wislied it, and so did you ; so I pressed it.^ Lord 
 Hawkestone was kis eldest son. 
 
 ' I'm sorry you found any difficulty ; tkere 
 ouglit to kave been none.' 
 
 ' Certainly tkere ougkt to kave been none, 
 considering wkat tkis Government owes to our 
 family ; I don't know tkat tkere would kave been 
 but for tkat foolisk escapade of yours — ' 
 
 ' No great karm kunting tke drag or driving 
 tke Tally -ko, uncle/ said Harold, sitting quietly 
 down, as if to argue tke point. 
 
 No great karm in driving it, tke karm was in 
 upsetting it. You'll find, Harold, tkat in tke 
 profession you're entering, bad luck is a very 
 great fault ; and you seem to me to kave kad 
 your skare. According to your own account, 
 you've scarcely ever been guilty witkout being 
 found out.' Here tke peer smiled good-kumour- 
 edly, as if ke were inclined to look very ligktly on 
 tke peccadillos in question. 
 
 After a few minutes' pause, in wkick Lord 
 Falconberg seemed to be collecting kis ideas, or 
 ratker kis language for giving tkem expression, 
 ke resumed tke very unusual task ke kad set kim- 
 self of giving advice.
 
 OUR HERO, SUCH AS HE IS. 51 
 
 ' No man alive, my dear Harold, ever attained 
 greater success in his profession tlian your poor 
 father. If an ample income, derived from several 
 patent offices and sinecures, which he managed 
 far to exceed, was any proof of this, there could 
 be no doubt of it. He was an excellent soldier. 
 There's nothing to be done without discipline ; 
 and of all things beware of debt.' It occurred to 
 Harold that perhaps if his uncle and he were to 
 change places the peer might better appreciate 
 his own advice. ' You will have temptations to 
 surmount, as all men with your limited means must 
 have. Eton and Oxford ought to have given you 
 some insight into such matters.' 
 
 ' I think they have, sir,' said Harold, who 
 felt that he was expected to say something. ' I 
 think they have ; ' and he could not help smiling 
 at the conceit. 
 
 ' The regiment is not necessarily an expensive 
 one. You can live almost as you hke. Make 
 what use you can of Grosvenor-square in the sea- 
 son, and get some convenient rooms in St James'- 
 street or Pall-mall. Your poor father's income of 
 course went with him. His life insurance and the 
 few thousands he left behind him will be equally 
 divided between you and Adelaide ; and as I shall 
 continue the allowance I have hitherto made of a 
 
 rvSTVonLUucs
 
 52 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 couple of liundreds a-year, you may witli strict 
 economy do very well. Whenever you get away 
 you^ll always find a home liere.^ And then the peer 
 thought he had almost exhausted his topics of 
 advice and counsel^ so Harold thanked his uncle 
 for the substantial assistance he promised him. 
 
 '^ And when am I to join^ sir ? ' 
 
 ' Ohj not immediately. Hawkestone will be 
 down to-morrow^ and then you can consult him ; 
 he'll tell you when to go to the Duke's levee, and 
 help you in any way, except in lending you 
 money. There never was such a fellow as that to 
 overdraw. Whatever you do, Harold, avoid debt, 
 and never buy a horse with calf-knees — they are 
 sure to come to grief sooner or later.' Saying 
 which the good-humoured old peer rose and led 
 the way to the stables. ' Now I'll show you Lady 
 Helen's hack. She'll be home from Paris for 
 good in a fortnight, and I mean to surprise her.' 
 
 And so Harold Falcon got over his university 
 difficulties, and found himself in the Scotch Fusi- 
 leers, in which regiment his cousin Lord Hawke- 
 stone was senior lieutenant and captain, and a 
 most irreproachable young officer, with the ex- 
 ception of that one capacity for overdrawing his 
 allowance by some hundreds, which in his case 
 was a matter of very little importance. 
 
 We have seen that upon two other important
 
 OUR HERO, SUCH AS HE IS. 53 
 
 occasions Harold Falcon was by no means in- 
 debted to bis position in society for tbe eminence 
 he attained at once ; neitber did be seem inclined 
 to sbine- by borrowed ligbt in bis new occnpation. 
 It was scarcely known tbat a cousin of Hawke- 
 stone's bad joined ; be bad bardly been seen on 
 tbe steps of tbe Guards' club, or at St James's, 
 before be came ratber prominently before tbe 
 Britisb public, and especially tbe sporting part of 
 it, as tbe winner of tbe Liverpool. Now tbis was 
 a ratber bigb pedestal to bave percbed on for tbe 
 practice of economy and self-denial ; tbe more so 
 as bis brotber officers were quite ready to acknow- 
 ledge tbe reflected glory by every mark of popu- 
 larity. Tbe winner of tbe Liverpool, wbo bas 
 graduated nowbere in borseflesb but in tbe pro- 
 vinces or at a university, must be a genius. And 
 Byron himself could bardly bave woke and found 
 himself more famous than Harold Falcon on tbe 
 day after tbe Liverpool. If there was any doubt 
 about it, it soon ceased ; for he stated at breakfast 
 in tbe club on the followinor morninor, with a sim- 
 plicity only to be found in an embryo guardsman, 
 that be bad given seven hundred for tbe winner 
 immediately after tbe race ; and was going to try 
 to borrow tbe money to pay for him. 
 
 To those who know tbe value of money under 
 tbe circumstances, it will not be necessary to say
 
 54 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 liow mucli Harold Falcon paid for it. He and 
 some of his friends called it ten per cent.^ but as 
 it was borrowed only for three months we shall 
 call it what it was — forty. ' And very fair too/ 
 said the discounters^ who knew all about him, 
 ' he'll have ten thousand when he comes of age, his 
 pay — on which he can't live — and two hundred a- 
 year from the peer. He's lucky to get it at all.' 
 And so he was ; and nothing but his extraordinary 
 good looks, which made an impression on that 
 gigantic middleman, Bernhard Jansen, who was 
 looking about for high-class paper, got him the 
 money. With a winner of the Liverpool, a talent 
 for steering him, and a necessity for getting 
 money without his uncle's knowledge, if possible, 
 it is not remarkable that in a few years, the time 
 in fact at which we have arrived, Harold Falcon 
 had got through his little fortune, and could have 
 paved Pall-mall with his acceptances. Some- 
 how or other Lord Falconberg's words had some- 
 thing in them. Luck was a great thing iu the 
 profession ; and Harold always lit on his feet. 
 Something came off the day before the little bill 
 was due, and then he paid a portion and renewed. 
 The women said, what a pity the handsomest man 
 in London was such a pauper ; and the men said, 
 ' the best fellows always went to the devil first.'
 
 00 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 MUST Wm A POT 0^ MONEY. 
 
 The Holt was a fine old place, about a mile 
 from Waterpark. Large, grand, dingy, and bad- 
 ly furnislied, save in the matter of old-fasbioned 
 sofas and modern arm-chairs. It is curious to 
 remark liow far we excel tlie ancients in the latter 
 article of comfort, and their superiority to us in 
 the former; deep-seated, large, luxurious; a sofa 
 as big as a bed ; and not a couch. I don^t mean 
 to say that a newly-furnished London drawing- 
 room in a third-rate house, or a semi-detached 
 villa about Pimlico, would not be sj)oilt by the 
 introduction of this rare luxury, behind and be- 
 neath which children may play at hide and seek, 
 or which — tempora, mores ! — might serve 
 to shelter more important sinners if the world 
 be as bad as it is reported to be by those who 
 profess to know it. It (the sofa I mean, not the 
 world) would either put to the blush the modest 
 blue-and-silver trumpery which does duty for
 
 56 LOKD falconberg's heir. 
 
 fashion at a cheap rate (tAvel\^e and sixpence in 
 he pound), or it would look so like a bull in a 
 china-shop as to ensure immediate rejection. 
 There wasn^t a room in the Holt that had not one 
 or more of them, drawn up alongside of the ample 
 dogs and huge fireplaces, or at the foot of the 
 large comfortable old bedsteads, with their cherubs 
 and crowns and coronets in polished oak, which 
 frightened the wicked and the timid, when the 
 lurid glare of their flickering fire shone upon 
 them at midnight. The Holt was a pure bache- 
 lor's house at present. Every room in it might 
 have had a new carpet. Not one excepting the 
 drawing-room but exhibited symptoms of shoot- 
 ing boots, dog's victuals, and cigar ashes, and — 
 liorvesco vpferens — the bed-rooms themselves smelt 
 of smoke. 
 
 After this description of the house you will 
 scarcely want to go as far as the stables. You 
 will be wrong. In those three sides of a quad- 
 rangle you will see all the lavish expense of the 
 owner. The interior has all the cleanliness and 
 decoration which Benedict would have given to 
 the house. Not a luxury is wanting that can be 
 obtained with due regard to ventilation and health. 
 No smoking there ; it's a rule of the place. The 
 property is too valuable to be burnt. "Whether
 
 MUST WIN A POT o' MONEY. 57 
 
 or no the same estimate is attaelied to the ances- 
 tors that decorate the walls, amidst the valuable 
 Angelos, Caraccis, Poussins, and Carlo Dolces, 
 the heir-looms of a long and wealthy line, I can't 
 say ; but it is quite clear that the risk may be run, 
 I believe, if no sense of shame withheld the avowal, 
 that Dick Carruthers would prefer to see the 
 whole house in flames, as long as nobody was^ 
 it, to the smallest accident to some half-dozen of 
 the tenants of those loose boxes. He knows all 
 the pictures, he says, and he never means to look 
 into one of the books ; while he enjoys a fresh 
 pleasure every time he gets on to the back of 
 any one of his horses, and wins more money 
 pretty nearly every time he sees them run. 
 
 If a lady is honouring me by reading this 
 book, I can forgive her curiosity to know some- 
 thing more of Dick Carruthers. It is but natural 
 that she should like to analyze the Dick Carru- 
 thers of this wicked world with a view to avoid 
 them. No man need want to know much about 
 him ; there are plenty more where he came from. 
 
 He was a man of largo fortune, old family, 
 without more education than was to be picked up 
 accidentally at a public school. He was what you 
 or I should have called ' a good fellow,' if we 
 knew him a little : if we went to stay with him
 
 58 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 once a year, for example, to slioot Ms covers or to 
 ride — well, no, not unless lie was well assured of 
 your capability. He was fond of filling his house 
 at certain times, and with certain men, because he 
 liked it, without much reference to them. If you 
 didn^t want a dinner, and were quite capable of 
 appreciating a good one, he would be most happy 
 to see you ; and if you had half-a-dozen houses to 
 go to, and very large studs at your command, he 
 would bore you to come to him, and ride his 
 horses. But if you wanted a dinner, or if you 
 would like to have stayed with him for change of 
 air, or rest, or health, he certainly would not have 
 cared to ask you. If you were a poor devil, fond 
 of hunting, without a horse to ride, Dick Carru- 
 thers would have recommended you to go to — 
 Tollitt. There are plenty of men, different from 
 this, who like helping the lame, blind, halt, and 
 needy ; and I have the pleasure of their acquaint- 
 ance and enjoy it. I hope they'll accept of this 
 handsome acknowledgment : but there are plenty 
 of the other sort too, who sail through the world 
 under the name of ' good fellows,' ' capital fel- 
 lows,' 'first-rate fellows,' and Dick Carruthers was 
 one of them : but he's nothing to do with the 
 story. Let's see who he had in the house that has. 
 ' AVho's coming to dinner to-day, Dick ? ' said
 
 MUST WIN A POT o' MONEY. 59 
 
 Harold Falcon^ as tliey sauntered across the hall, 
 and saw the preparations going on through an 
 open door. 
 
 ' Loxton and Dashvvood, and an Oxford man, 
 Beauchamp, whom you don't know. Johnson,' 
 said the master of the house, calling to the butler 
 as he crossed the hall, ' how many have we at 
 table to-day ? ' 
 
 ' Only eleven, sir. We have laid for twelve, 
 but it's one too many.' 
 
 ' Ask that unfortunate curate, Dick,' says 
 Harold ; ' he'll enjoy it.' 
 
 ^What's the use of asking him? he won't 
 amuse us much,' replies the master. 
 
 ' Perhaps we shall amuse him,' says the other ; 
 ' he'll enjoy a good dinner and a bottle of your 
 claret after it. I dare say he's been at work in 
 the parish all day long, and would be glad of the 
 change.' 
 
 ' He won't play at loo nor at pool, at least 
 not for money, and he won't lay the odds nor 
 take them; and he never heard of the Rover, 
 so I don't see what use he'll be to us.' This 
 argument was decisive, and as it wasn't Harold 
 Falcon's house nor dinner, he said no more. 
 
 'I'll tell you what we'll do after luncheon, 
 Falcon; we'll get Armitagc to ride with us over
 
 60 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 to Longford^ and ask the rector to dinner : he's the 
 best judge of claret in tlie county, and he says 
 that ^34 of mine will be quite first-rate/ Harold 
 acquiesced of course, and asked what they were 
 to ride. 
 
 ' You shall have out the Rover, he wants a 
 little schooling ; and we'll put Armitage on the 
 chestnut mare. He's sure to come to grief; but 
 it will do them both good : ' with which considerate 
 speech and intention for his guests' comfort, the 
 best fellow in the world went back to the stable 
 to give his orders, and Harold Falcon went into 
 the library to look at the odds for the Waterpark 
 handicap. 
 
 To the intense disappointment of Dick and his 
 friends, the chestnut was only down twice in the 
 excursion, and Armitage was not hurt either 
 time. The Rover fenced as brilliantly as usual, 
 and looked all that could be desired by his 
 backers. 
 
 The rector of Longford, a good sort of man, 
 who might rather be called a black squire, 
 accepted the invitation which was given him : and 
 he belied neither the soundness of the claret nor 
 of his own constitution, when his dog-cart was 
 ordered at half-past eleven to carry him back to 
 his home.
 
 MUST WIN A POT o' MONEY. Gl 
 
 We write of a time wlien smoking was not 
 what it is now. I liad never seen a gentleman 
 with a pipe at that time : and the nearest approach 
 to it was the remnant of the parsons Adams or 
 TrulHber^ as exhibited in a Welsh curate. Cigars 
 were admissible at the Universities and in 
 bachelors'" houses j and some few large and very 
 commodious country-seats boasted a proper smok- 
 ing-room. Had any one, even at Dick Carruthers'j 
 then told me that I should live to see the colour- 
 ing of meerschaums the principal occupation of 
 our young men, I should have believed in it much 
 as I should have believed that a morning visit 
 could be paid in Grosvenor-square in a shooting 
 jacket and a felt hat. 
 
 But inasmuch as smoking was not such a 
 business then as now, it was more of a pleasure ; 
 and the men who did smoke enjoyed the luxuiy 
 with a gusto as superior as that of the moderate 
 claret drinker to the indiscriminate toper of all 
 kinds of poison. Nay, I can hardly hesitate to say 
 that the tobacco was better and the appreciation 
 of it juster. For as the amiable youth, who leaves 
 a lower form at Eton to finish that education 
 which has never yet been begun, furnishes himself 
 openly with regalias at ninepence, and cabanas at 
 sixpence a piece, it is difiicult to believe that such
 
 62 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 a temptation to plunder can be resisted. Tlie 
 Britisli merchant is^ as we know, proof against 
 mucli ; but^ unless it be from the beads of the pro- 
 fession, such a box of cigars as perfumed the 
 billiard-room at the Holt on the eveninof in 
 question, is seldom produced in these degenerate 
 days. 
 
 ' How did the horse go to-day. Falcon ? ' says 
 young Dashwood of the Fourth Dragoon Guards, 
 chalking his cue and proceeding to hole his 
 adversary in the middle pocket. 
 
 ' Have you backed him yet ? ' replies Harold 
 Falcon. 
 
 ' Not for a halfpenny. Game ; that's another 
 fiver,' upon which Lord Farrington, with a readi- 
 ness which did him credit, instead of taking it, 
 handed over a ten pound note, and resigned his 
 cue. 
 
 * The sooner you do so the better. He was at 
 seven to one, now he's at four, and he may be at 
 evens before they start,' again says Falcon. 
 
 *^We have heard of the fox and his brush. 
 You have backed him yourself.' 
 
 ' I have : and if you want an opinion of his 
 merits, I can give an honest one : for I rode him 
 to-day. I believe he'll win. He's very fast, and 
 nothing but a sheer accident can get him down.'
 
 MUST WIN A POT o' MONEY. G3 
 
 ' How many are going for tlie steeplechase ? ' 
 in'quires Sir Harry Armitage. 
 
 ' There are six or seven likely to start ; but 
 no one knows til] the day. He^s thorongh-bred ; 
 and the chances are that none of the others 
 are so.' 
 
 'I believe he^ll win^ if he remains all right/ 
 remarks Dick Carruthers^ who has taken appa- 
 rently little interest in the conversation. 'He 
 can give anything in the stable^ two stone at 
 least : and he has just time to be leisurely and 
 carefully prepared.' 
 
 ' Then back him yourself^ Dick/ calls out 
 Farrington from the other end of the room, where 
 he was lounging; for the discussion about the 
 Eover had put an end to the billiards for the 
 time. ' Back him yourself, and then we shall 
 know you're in earnest.' 
 
 ' So I will at four to one, if any one will make 
 it worth my while : I'll do it to a thousand.' 
 Nobody immediately responded, and one or two 
 laughed. 
 
 ' The odds are a little long, Carruthers,' said 
 Harold, 'but I'll do it; I can afford it. I'll lay 
 you four thousand to one : book it.' And Harold 
 Falcon took from the pocket of his dress-coat the 
 inevitable betting-book.
 
 64 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 ' Hang it, Harold/ said Farrington again ; 
 ' tliat^s heavy betting/ 
 
 ' Not too heavy — 1^11 have a run for my money 
 at any rate. I took seven thousand to one my- 
 self — so I stand to win there to nothing, at all 
 events. I don't think that begg'ar Carruthers 
 meant anything,' said Falcon, laughing good- 
 humouredly, '' but we've nailed him now.' The 
 expression of surprise on the faces of most of 
 Dick's guests was marvellous : and knowing 
 Harold Falcon's general impecuniosity they were 
 not prepared for such a wager. However, the 
 bet was booked, and there was an end of the 
 business. 
 
 ' Is that your cousin at T ? There's one 
 
 of your family up there whom I know very well,' 
 said Beauchamp, turning suddenly to Harold 
 Falcon : a tall, thin, rather light man. And he 
 was proceeding to give further details, when 
 Harold interrupted him good-humouredly. 
 
 'Yes : never mind about saying how ill- 
 favoured he is — that's my cousin — not much of 
 the family-cut about him. What does he do — 
 read?' 
 
 ' Just now he's said to be very spoony on a 
 girl they call Peggy Jansen.' 
 
 ' Just the sort of fellow that would be spoony
 
 MUST WIN A POT o' MONEY. 65 
 
 on Peggy Jansen/ says Harold Falcon^ ' isn't lie, 
 Farrington ? ' 
 
 ' What ! do you know Peggy Jansen ? ' says 
 Beaucliamp, opening Ids eyes with, astonishment. 
 
 ' Of course I do — her father's a most respect- 
 able man, and a great friend of mine.' Here the 
 rest, who were already initiated in the mysteries 
 of bill-discounting and Bernhard Jansen, laughed. 
 ' I'm glad George didn't see me lay four thousand 
 to one against the Eover.' 
 
 ' Why so ? ' said two or three at once. Beau- 
 champ among them. 
 
 ' Because he's fond of money, and it might 
 upset him to think of so much good credit going- 
 out of the family coffers. I don't like to call it 
 hard cash.'
 
 66 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 JANSEN^S HOUSEHOLD AREANGEMENTS. 
 
 The interior of the farm-house near Wood- 
 stockj in which Jansen and his wife and daughter 
 lived, was remarkable externally and internally. 
 Its gable ends and peculiarity of building, with- 
 out any settled design or order, the black-coloured 
 rafters and beams which ran along it through the 
 red bricks, crossing them and supporting each 
 other, with the wooden eaves which overhung 
 the ground story, made it eminently picturesque. 
 It wanted however in comfort whatever it gained 
 in appearance inside and out. It was not so 
 much the neglect of poverty as of indiflFerence. 
 No attempt was made, though the winter was pass- 
 ing away, to train the creepers which hung in 
 wild luxuriance over its door and windows. The 
 grass was uncared-for, excepting by a single 
 goat, who, tethered by a cord, was attempting to 
 keep down the grass-plot : and the last year's
 
 jansen's household aerangements. 67 
 
 beds seemed to be mucli in the state in which a 
 northern autumn was likely to have left them. 
 
 Inside affairs were only so far different, that 
 as in this climate we live in-doors and not out, 
 personal necessities demand some provision of 
 warmth. The square old hall, paved, not boarded, 
 was uneven and broken ; the room on the right, 
 a large, square, well-shaped chamber, panelled 
 and dark, was used as a workshop : it contained 
 at present a long carpenter's table or settle ; a 
 variety of tools, and coloured woods "fit for work- 
 ing, and some splendid models of carved birds 
 and flowers. The room was simply whitewashed 
 as to its ceiling and wall above the oaken wain- 
 scot. It contained, however, some very extra- 
 ordinary curiosities in the way of clocks, toys, 
 and automata, besides fine old specimens of carv- 
 ing in various woods and styles. There were, 
 too, some valuable pictures, but all by Dutch 
 masters ; and some of them were family portraits, 
 burgomeisters and city dignities, who would have 
 shamed — with their fur cloaks, gold chains, and 
 magnificent beards — the lord-mayors and com- 
 mon-councilmen of the greatest commercial city 
 in the world. They stand in need of a flattering 
 Holbein, Vandyck, or Eubens to bring them up 
 to the mark of old Bernhard Jansen's ancestors ;
 
 68 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 for sucli they were said to be. Tliere was no 
 attempt at hanging them now, though it was 
 reported that some had undergone that process 
 in more perilous times, when Horn and Egmont 
 suffered too. There they stood leaning up against 
 the wall, or propped against a chair which would 
 certainly not have borne their living represent- 
 atives. 
 
 Had you visited every room in the house but 
 one, and that was his daughter Margaret^s room, 
 you would have seen much the same sort of thing ; 
 for a Nuremberg life and the peculiarities of her 
 husband's occupation, had made Dame Jansen 
 very indifferent to English tidiness ; and she 
 picked her way among the broken furniture with 
 as much ease as Herr Jansen knocked it down. 
 
 But there was one curiosity in the room 
 greater than any other there, and this was Bern- 
 hard Jansen himself. He was sitting away from 
 the fire-place, which was well filled with a mixture 
 of wood and coal. His coat was off, as though he 
 had been engaged in his occupation; and his 
 huge frame was resting easily in a large and com- 
 fortable arm-chair. He was smoking a German 
 pipe of painted porcelain, of some value, and of 
 a size to match himself. At his right-hand was 
 a long-necked bottle of excellent Schiedam, a
 
 jansen's household arrangements. 69 
 
 tumbler, and sugar basin of silver of antique pat- 
 tern, and a jug of boiling water stood near. He 
 was engaged in looking over a betting-book. 
 We have already spoken of his size : he was a 
 handsome man, in many respects, too. His eyes 
 were large and bright, though overshadowed 
 with thick brows, and the lower part of his face 
 was almost concealed by a drooping moustache 
 and a long, silky, and venerable beard. In the 
 present day this would not have been as remark- 
 able as it was then. 
 
 The door opened, and a tall, meagre-looking 
 woman of about forty-three or four years of 
 age entered the room. Her features, too, were 
 straight and good, but not pleasant to look upon. 
 The light was waning, as it was nearly half-past 
 five. The Frau rested a moment on the threshold 
 of the door, and then advanced into the room. 
 
 ^Mrs Jansen,' said the occupant, emitting a 
 cloud of very fragrant tobacco, but looking sternly 
 up from the book, in which he was calculating, 
 not bets, but the dates of discounted bills, ' the 
 tea is not ready yet.^ 
 
 ' That's no reason why you should be drink- 
 ino: hot Hollands-and-water at this time ; ' for it 
 was a remarkable fact that Frau Jansen made a 
 point of increasing her own ill-humoor to match
 
 70 
 
 that of her husband : having begun Hfe with a 
 little the best of it in that respect, she had too 
 much self-respect ever to lose caste. 
 
 ' I drink what I like/ replied he, knitting his 
 brows. 
 
 ' Say, rather, you like what you drink. I 
 should think. Giant, you've made it too strong of 
 the lemon, by your temper.^ Giant was not so 
 much a term of endearment as it first appears to 
 be. It was something between ' Bernhard ' and 
 ' you old fool,' and could be turned either to one 
 or the other at a moment's notice. Herr Jansen 
 continued to smoke in silence. 
 
 ' I thought how it would be when Peggy was 
 gone.^ 
 
 ^ As far as the girl is concerned it would be a 
 good thing if she was never to come back again. 
 Look at that.' And here Herr Jansen held out 
 a letter to his wife ; which she read and returned 
 to him. 
 
 ' And where did this come from ? ' said she, 
 after a moment's hesitation. 
 
 ' From that precious glover, who's making a 
 sale of her own daughters, and would be glad to 
 send yours to the same market.' 
 
 ' Hoity toity.' And here in strong emotion, 
 be it remarked, Frau Jansen became as English
 
 jansen's household arrangements. 71 
 
 as she had been twenty years ago. ' I suppose 
 you mean you interfered as usual just at the 
 wrong time. If you expect to marry your daugh- 
 ter respectably by sending her away every time 
 a gentleman says or writes a civil word to her — ' 
 
 ' Civil word, donner wetter ! Frau Jansen/ and 
 here the Giant struck his fist violently on the 
 table, shaking everything in the room but his 
 wife's nerves, ' do you call this G. F.'s (whoever 
 he is) civil words ? Doesn't he ask her to meet 
 him without the knowledge of her father or her 
 mother ? Is that the English for civil words, 
 Frau Jansen : for if so, I like better the language 
 of my own country. It wasn't the way I asked 
 you to be my wife. Do you know who this G. F., 
 as he calls himself, is?' And then he held out 
 the note once more, flattening it for his wife's 
 perusal with his other hand. 
 
 ^ Do I know ? of course I do. But the man's 
 in such a hurry, there is no doing or saying any- 
 thing.' And the Frau turned round, and opening 
 her hands, appealed to the other curiosities of the 
 room. ' Has she a secret from her mother, do you 
 think ? And now, when matters were beginning to 
 take a turn, hey, presto ! she's gone. Send for her 
 back, and beg her pardon for your suspicions.' This 
 was a long speech and a cunning one, but Herr
 
 72 
 
 Jansen was not to be turned from his former 
 question. 
 
 ' Who is this G. F. ? Yes, Frau Jansen, — this 
 Gr. F. whom I heard talking to our Peggy on the 
 other side of our wall ? Would that I could have 
 caught him. I tell you, woman, they did talk of 
 marriage; but it was she, not he/ The fact is 
 that Bemhard Jansen had heard that evening 
 more than was good for him, yet not quite 
 enough. 
 
 ' Then, stupid, I tell you who the G. F. you 
 speak of is — he is George Fellowes ; he is what 
 you call edel, noble ; but we don^t overrun our 
 country with small nobility, we are satisfied with 
 gentlemen, Edelmanner. Will not that do for 
 your daughter ? ' 
 
 'Honestly, Mrs Jansen, it will. And when 
 such an one comes to carry ofi" my lamb, he will 
 come by the door of the sheepfold. He'll noU 
 climb over the wrong way. If he does, he'll meet 
 the fate of the wolf. You understand ? ' 
 
 ' Good,' replied the woman ; ' let her marry 
 whom she will, only let her love him. That won't 
 be one of your workmen — artisans. She has not 
 been taught to love such, Herr Jansen. You have 
 never taught her to love such. You wouldn't 
 like to mend chairs and tables, no more will she.'
 
 jansen's household arrangements. 73 
 
 ' Love, did I say love ? No ! I said marriage. 
 If this Fellowes will marry her — well : but I 
 know Mm better. However, sbe is gone for the 
 present, and until these boys return to their 
 homes, she must remain away. She shall come 
 no more into temptation.^ 
 
 ' Temptation ; listen to me. You have told 
 me of your blood ; your ancestors, look at them. 
 Shall your daughter marry beneath them. They 
 were great men in Holland and in Germany. She 
 has beauty, learning, wit (of which, indeed, she 
 had none). You have ambition for her. Giant. 
 Leave her to me.' 
 
 The giant mixed himself more grog, and for- 
 got his tea. He held his tongue, for in truth, he 
 thought to a certain extent with his wife, but he 
 had his reasonable fears. His open nature was 
 more than a match for his wife's worldliness. 
 Bernhard Jansen would have liked his daughter 
 to have married a gentleman. He had seen some 
 of all sorts, and he knew Peggy to be unfitted 
 for the life of an artisan, even were he one of his 
 own class. Besides, he knew what his wife did 
 not; that there was a little money, a thousand or 
 two even, to go with her. A relation had left 
 it her, and he had improved it; and in all his 
 dijEculties he had never diminished what he
 
 74 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 called Peggy's fortune. At all events she was 
 out of liarm^s way now at a cousin^s house in 
 Scotland^ who was well-to-do in the world ; and 
 though he wanted his daughter, he would keep 
 her there till the wolf, as he chose to call him, 
 was away from the neighbourhood. 
 
 He was still in a brown study ; his wife held 
 her tongue, and candles had been brought him 
 by their single maid-servant. Frau Jansen pre- 
 tended to sleep and allowed the Hollands and 
 pipe to do duty for tea. Just then a horse came 
 into the old court-yard, and a man^s voice in- 
 quired for Mr Jansen. The master put on his 
 coat and went out. 
 
 ' Ah, ah, Mr Falcon — you — so late ? What is 
 it now ? ' said he, ushering into the room our old 
 acquaintance Harold Falcon. 
 
 ' The old story, Jansen. Money. I must 
 have money, and at once.' 
 
 ' Money is scarce : besides, that last bill — ' 
 
 ' Shall be paid, Jansen — it is due next week ; 
 but I must have five hundred to-morrow at 
 latest.' 
 
 ' And the names ? ' 
 
 ' Good, my own and Lord Barthefield,' replied 
 Harold. 
 
 ' And the percentage ? ' said Jansen, not dis-
 
 jansen's household aerangements. 75 
 
 posed to make difficulties witli so good a customer 
 as Harold had hitherto proved. 
 
 ' Shall be as before — three months only — I 
 shall be in funds/ 
 
 ' Then give me your acceptance for six hun- 
 dred ; but you must give me time to send to Lon- 
 don. The day after to-morrow^ Captain.^ 
 
 ' Good. I may depend upon it.^ And Harold 
 rode rapidly out of the yard towards Oxford. 
 When Frau Jansen heard who the visitor was, 
 she said, ' There, Giant, why don't you do some- 
 thing of that sort for Peggy ? ' 
 
 ' Peggy, by heaven, it shall be. Frau Jansen 
 is right.^ And Herr Jansen began to think in 
 earnest. But first he lit another pipe.
 
 76 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE COUSINS. 
 
 Harold Falcon lost no time on tlie Wood- 
 stock road; and^ indeed, Ms horse was not in- 
 clined to let him. He was an Oxford hack, and 
 knew the road and the pace he was expected to 
 go. It's an honest, good animal, or was in those 
 days, so long as he was well fed, but possibly he 
 may have degenerated. When we have a poor 
 man's coUege or a nonconformist hall, he ought 
 to go out altogether in compliment to the new 
 comers. At present he only finds himself a little 
 de trop from the able use that undergraduates are 
 learning to make of their own legs. Well, it is 
 cheaper at all events, and I have become a father 
 since those days. I have changed sides. 
 
 When Harold reached Oxford, having left his 
 
 horse at the stables, he walked into T College, 
 
 and through the gate, which was still open. The 
 porter was standing on the steps of his conciergene, 
 and Harold asked if Mr Falcon was in his rooms.
 
 THE COUSINS. 77 
 
 'Yes, sir/ said Walker, grinning facetiously. 
 He's in his rooms ; glad to be tlie first to tell you 
 the news. Your cousin got his ' testamur ' yes- 
 terday, sir ; there was only one of us plucked, sir, 
 and we've nineteen going for honours. They do 
 say there'll be two firsts quite certain, and I am 
 told they'll give Mr Falcon a honorary fourth. 
 But there's nothing so uncertain as a honorary 
 fourth. I've seen more gents disappointed over 
 a fourth than over any think. There was Mr 
 Jenkins, now, of course he never read, but he 
 was — ' By this time Harold had got half-a-sove- 
 reign out of his pocket, which it was clear that 
 old Walker coveted, if he did not deserve, and 
 which saved him the melancholy rehearsal of 
 Jenkins' talents and disappointment. ' Thankye, 
 sir,' said the old man, putting it away in his 
 waistcoat pocket that it might not mingle with 
 the half-crowns and shillings he had already re- 
 ceived; 'thankye, sir; I'm sm^e I hope Master 
 George will get a fourth, for we think a deal 
 more of it than a second or a third. It's almost 
 as good as a first, only the president don't care 
 so much about it, cos it don't look so well on the 
 list,' by which time Harold was out of earshot and 
 nearing his cousin's rooms. 
 
 He found George Falcon preparing for the re-
 
 78 LOKD falconberg's heir. 
 
 ception of a supper party. As might have been 
 expected, learning was at so low an ebb tliat its 
 most ordinary exhibition was about to be cele- 
 brated by a splendid entertainment. George was 
 aboutto celebratehis success by the most barbarous 
 of festivals. In another hour it was at its height. 
 An apology is always due to the reader for an 
 introduction of an Oxford supper party ; not only 
 has it been done ad nauseam, but it is so little 
 worth doing that I shall make but short work of it. 
 Christ Church and Merton sent each its contin- 
 gent ; and a few of his most intimate associates 
 from his own college made up some sixteen or 
 eighteen guests. Flat deal slabs of ready-opened 
 oysters preceded the heavier viands; cold turkeys, 
 chickens, ham, tongues, and pressed beef, with 
 a fair assortment of jelHes and sweetmeats, 
 tempted carnivorous appetites that had only 
 dined about four hours before ; champagne, and 
 huge jorums of bishop, cardinal, egg-flip, and 
 punch were waiting to be consumed. The table 
 groaned, but the guests were not yet arrived. 
 The supper was as refined as the conversation 
 was likely to be. Who has not assisted at some 
 such uncivilized rites, and who does not wonder 
 at his own stupidity ? The only thing not to 
 wonder at in the whole performance is the head-
 
 THE COUSINS. 79 
 
 ache of the following morning. George welcomed 
 his cousin with a nod, as he decantered some 
 sherry. 
 
 ' I congratulate you, George, and myself too.* 
 
 ' On what ? ' 
 
 ' You on your exanination, and myself on 
 having arrived before the savages, who are evi- 
 dently expected.* George Falcon laughed, and 
 his cousin continued, 'I wanted two or three 
 minutes* chat with you.* 
 
 ' You can have it. Nothing very serious, I 
 presume.* 
 
 ' Well, not particularly so ; it might have 
 heen worse.* 
 
 ' Then you can stay to supper, and we can 
 talk over the other business to-morrow morning,* 
 said George, who added, parenthetically, ^D — 
 that scout of mine, he*8 always losing the cork- 
 screw,* which was, and is, and will be true of all 
 scouts, past, present, and to come. 
 
 ' No, I can't do that ; Fve not dined yet, and 
 you will be quite unfitted for business to-mor- 
 row; let*s have it out now, and 1*11 go to the 
 ' Mitre ' to dinner.* 
 
 ' Where did yoa come from, Harold ? * 
 
 ' Last from Woodstock. I rode one of Car- 
 i-uthers* horses from Waterpark this afternoon.
 
 80 LOED falconbekg's heir. 
 
 and Seckham sent over a hack to meet me. A 
 very good one lie was.'' 
 
 The candles were not yet lit^ and the room, 
 which was large and lofty, continued in partial 
 darkness, or a change in George Falcon^ s features, 
 at the mention of Woodstock, might have been 
 perceptible. He remembered that Harold had been 
 seen there, unaccountably, once or twice before. 
 
 ' Woodstock ; that's not the shortest way.' 
 
 ' There's not much difference, but I wanted to 
 see some one.^ 
 
 ' I should have thought your acquaintance in 
 that neighbourhood was small.' 
 
 ' I wanted to see a man of the name of Jan sen.' 
 George Falcon now really lost his presence of 
 mind, and looked up at his cousin wonderingly. 
 
 ' And what could you want with Jansen ? he 
 lives out of Woodstock.^ 
 
 ' Just what I want with you now.' 
 
 ' But who is Jansen ? ' said George, feeling 
 that he had committed himself a little and anx- 
 ious to retrieve the false step. 
 
 ' If you don't know, George,' replied the 
 other in a bantering way, ' it's as well you 
 shouldn't make his acquaintance.' 
 
 * But I want to know. I've heard men speak 
 of him.'
 
 THE COUSINS. 81 
 
 ' You mean of his daughter, donH you ? ' and 
 if Harold could have seen his cousin's face now, 
 he might have resisted the pleasure of any further 
 banter. ' I hear you're spoony in that quarter. 
 It's a dangerous state for an undergraduate; 
 however, I presume you've done with the univer- 
 sity now for some time.' 
 
 'I shall come up to keep my master's — : and 
 now tell me what you want with me, as you won't 
 stop to supper.' 
 
 ' I want you to lend me a hundred pounds to- 
 night. Give me a check.' 
 
 'Money's scarce,' said George, unconsciously 
 buttoning his pocket. We didn't wear long slits 
 in those days. 
 
 ' Just the very words old Jansen said. You 
 can have it back again the day after to-morrow. 
 The fact is I'm on my way to Borodaile's, and I 
 can't go without it. There's not another man in 
 the university with as much, I should think ; 
 that's why I came to you.' 
 
 ' What's it worth to you, Harold ? ' said the 
 other with a cold sneer. 
 
 ' It may be worth a good deal or not, that's as 
 luck goes; but I'U give you a hundred and 
 twenty for it the day after to-morrow.' 
 
 George hesitated still, not that he really in-
 
 82 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 tended to refuse^ but he could not part with a 
 promise without some reluctance. 
 
 ' TherCj never mind about calculating the per- 
 centage. Old Jansen would do it for less, I 
 didn't see his daughter to-day; but — by Jove, 
 I nearly forgot — as I was coming away I under- 
 took to get a letter delivered to one George Fel- 
 lowes. Old Jansen didn't know what College, 
 but I said I'd get it done for him. I suppose 
 George Fellowes has been getting up behind a 
 piece of paper. Do you know him, George ? ' Harold 
 did not notice George's face now, or he might 
 have been surprised by its pained and astonished 
 look, while holding out his hand he said with 
 great rapidity, ' Yes, yes. I'll undertake that he 
 gets it — it is money-matters of course,' — and 
 taking the letter he thrust it rapidly into his 
 pocket. 
 
 'That's all right. I don't suppose you do 
 much in that way. Now give me a piece of paper. 
 There: I.O.U. one hundred and twenty pounds. 
 Accidents may happen, and you wouldn't have 
 much to fight over, if I was to go, George. I 
 don't suppose Adelaide would care, but I should 
 feel quite unhappy at your disappointment.' 
 
 George Falcon wrote a cheque for a hundred 
 pounds almost mechanically, and put the other
 
 THE COUSINS. 83 
 
 into liis pocket. It served to balance tlie weight 
 of the letter to George Fellowes. 
 
 The moment his cousin left the room, he drew 
 out the letter and tore it open ; it was simple and 
 easily comprehensible. 
 
 'SlE, 
 
 'Your attentions to my daughter are un- 
 derstood, and your last letter has been received. 
 Both are estimated at their true value. It will 
 be better for you that you should not be found in 
 her company, or on my premises. 
 
 ' Your obedient servant, 
 
 ' Beenhaed Jansen.^ 
 
 George Falcon read these few lines a second 
 time j an angry flush came to his face, and then 
 it turned pale as the gray ashes into which he 
 threw the note. 
 
 His cousin Harold walked down to the ' Mitre,' 
 whither he had sent his clothes beforehand, 
 ordered a little dinner, walked into Christ Church, 
 won thirty pounds at Yincjt et un, and drove the 
 Defiance the next morning to Stokenchurch Hill, 
 where a carriage took him to his friend Lord Boro- 
 daile's. He did double the hundred his cousin 
 George lent him, and immediately redeemed his 
 I.O.U. for one hundred and twenty, to that
 
 84 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 cousin's deliglit^ more than to his own astonish- 
 ment. 
 
 Perhaps in disposition, as in appearance, no two 
 men could be less alike than Harold and George 
 Falcon. The former was of a gay, careless tem- 
 perament, which reached positive recklessness ; 
 and his ruin (not difficult to accomplish, it must 
 be admitted) had been achieved within a year or 
 two of his purchase of the seven-hundred-guinea 
 steeplechaser, and mainly by his attachment to 
 that flattering animal and others of his class. 
 George, on the contrary, was of a close unsympa- 
 thizing disposition, who went into society even at 
 an early age for what he could get, and who 
 gamed at a time of life when others gambled. 
 His great and leading principle was to defend 
 himself by attacking others ; and though he 
 would have been called the most unflinching 
 player of the playmen of his day, he was as pru- 
 dent as if it had been the solemnest occupation of 
 life. He always made acquaintances, for he ex- 
 pected them to be useful to him ; he never made 
 friends, lest the intimacy might be turned to his 
 disadvantage. Harold never had an acquaintance 
 that did not become a friend, nor a friend whom 
 he would have hesitated to assist with his last 
 shilling. By the time he was three-and-twenty
 
 THE COUSINS. 85 
 
 he had no other shilling to help them with. He 
 had most unbounded behef in his luck^ which, 
 although it beggared him, and left him frequently 
 without a hundred pounds in the world, was al- 
 ways doing him a good turn at odd unexpected 
 times; and as he began life with but little, he 
 sometimes after a good week, as he called it, was 
 as rich as he ever had been. Wlien he sold out, 
 his uncle. Lord Falconberg, was very angry, and 
 vowed he never would forgive him. In a month 
 he was at Hawkestone Castle, taking all the 
 trouble off his uncle's hands, and replacing 
 Hawkestone, who was doing duty with the regi- 
 ment of which he had washed his hands. It's 
 veiy wrong of the world, but there's not a hard- 
 working clergyman with ten children, who falls 
 into debt and misery, whom his creditors fail to 
 assail as a spendthrift and an idler; while, if 
 Harold Falcon had come to grief, there's not a 
 man would have lodo^ed a detainer against him. 
 He always conciliated the one with the money 
 that belonged to another. George never owed a 
 shilling, was as exemplary in his college hfe as he 
 had been elsewhere, and had lived on his whist 
 and Vingt et un among men who were only amus- 
 ing themselves by losing. Both were tall, and 
 looked like gentlemen. George was pale, subdued,
 
 86 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 blue-eyed^ light, and straight-liaired. Harold was 
 dark-eyed, open, laughter-loving, and handsome 
 as tlie day. Their pursuits were different, and 
 their tastes, and minds. George was slow but 
 industrious. Harold was quick, idle, impulsive ; 
 and far the cleverer of the two. They were not 
 fond of one another, which is not to be wondered 
 at. Active dislike wasn't in the nature of Harold ; 
 the extent of his hostility was borrowing money, 
 and it gave him more pleasure to get it out of 
 George than any one else. 
 
 Just now George Falcon had another grievance 
 against Harold. He was unable to divest his 
 mind of the idea that his cousin was endeavouring 
 to supplant him with Peggy Jansen. For, al- 
 though he would have been glad to be relieved of 
 an amour which was likely to give him incredible 
 anxiety and to end in expense if not exposure, he 
 was so happily gifted with a contrariety of dis- 
 position, that he would have hated the man who 
 should relieve him of his trouble, if he took the 
 innocent cause of it with him. It was a personal 
 offence to fall in love with the same woman, when 
 it ouofht to be reo^arded as the most delicate flat- 
 tery. A man at the antipodes has surely a right 
 to worship the sun, though all the time that lumi- 
 nary may be shining only upon you. Perhaps if
 
 THE COUSINS. 87 
 
 George Falcon had. known Bernliard Jansen and 
 his relations with his cousin and his set, he would 
 have been quite as much disposed to attribute 
 Harold^s visits to the right cause ; for he had a 
 firm belief in the superiority of money over 
 women, as an attraction. 
 
 But strange to say, Harold had seen and talked 
 to Peggy Jansen ; and, although his debts and 
 diflBculties had given him no time for falling in 
 love, he had often thought that he had never 
 seen so attractive a woman in his life. He de- 
 lighted in her large, confiding blue eyes, arid 
 long lashes, the luxuriant gold of her hair, the 
 pretty simple smile which she wore habitually, 
 and her clear complexion, so delicate but so indi- 
 cative of health. Love under such circumstances 
 never entered his head ; for it was rather much to 
 say for a man like Harold, who led the free and 
 easy life which he did, and who had not been 
 brought up in the strictest school of propriety, 
 that deliberate seduction was not amongst his 
 vices. Admiration he had often felt and expressed 
 to others of the money-lender's daughter; and 
 fur marriage he could only have looked to a class 
 which, with all his good looks, in his present 
 state of decadence, would possibly have over- 
 looked him.
 
 88 
 
 CHAPTER YIII. 
 
 WHO EIDES THE EOVEE ? 
 
 Time went steadily on^ witli Harold Falcon 
 more quietly than usual ; for having all sorts of 
 bills out at all sorts of dates^ it very seldom hap- 
 pened that there was not some pleasant anticipa- 
 tion to quicken the flagging hours. One accept- 
 ance for a thousand at six months^ and another 
 for six hundred at nine^ makes three-fom-ths of 
 the year go uncommonly fast ; and as Christmas 
 approaches^ the fourth quarter follows suit, bring- 
 ing with it those reminiscences which are never 
 so agreeable as when accompanied by a favour- 
 able balance at your banker's. Harold was some- 
 times dull, when he wondered what was to be 
 the end of a career, which seemed already to have 
 arrived, and the end of the world, as far as he 
 was concerned, to be resisted only by Bernhard 
 Jansen and the bill-discounters. But he was 
 never impatient ; for he always reflected that in
 
 WHO RIDES THE ROVER ? 89 
 
 a short time lie should certainly want all that he 
 was anxious to get rid of now. 
 
 His cousin George had left Oxford^ so that he 
 saw little of him. He was gone somewhere to 
 Scotland, or on the continent, whither he didn^t 
 know. Somebody had his address at Hawkestone, 
 but nobody seemed to know it. However, it 
 wasn't wanted. His usual residence was in Lon- 
 don ; he found it handy for the clubs and Tat- 
 tersalFs, and he kept up an intimacy with his own 
 brother-officers. When he liked he went to 
 Hawkestone Castle, where they were all glad to 
 see him ; none more than his cousin Lady Helen, 
 who was now permanently at home, as the mis- 
 tress of her father's household. Lord Hawke- 
 stone too had just retired, for his health was not 
 so good as it had been, and neither London nor 
 Windsor agreed with him. Of the three younger 
 ones, one was still at Eton, one was at Wool- 
 wich, and the other was reading with a tutor 
 preparatory to ordination in the neighbourhood 
 of the Castle. It was a pleasant house, generally 
 full of company ; and Lady Helen herself not the 
 least agreeable of its inmates. There was a great 
 intimacy between her and Harold ; just the sort 
 of intimacy which might have ripened into a 
 warmer attachment, or which might have existed
 
 90 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 all their lives long between cousins, and defied 
 tlie most censorious. 
 
 One tiling rather militated against this pla- 
 tonic assumption, and that was the fascinations of 
 the Lady Helen Falcon. She was one of the 
 handsomest girls in England, with a dignity of 
 manner and address toned down by the mosfc 
 natural grace. She had acquired in Paris (where 
 she had spent a season or two with a distant re- 
 lative, and one of the most highly -bred women in 
 France) that extreme ease and polish, which is as 
 far removed on the one hand from our national 
 hauteur as it is from a freedom of manner and 
 speech erroneously attributed to our neighbours. 
 She was of a fair complexion, with hazel eyes and 
 dark lashes, her hair was a light brown, beauti- 
 fully soft and luxuriant, her nose and mouth 
 faultless in shape, not too small to give character 
 to her face, with a certain strength and self- 
 government which was indicated by a somewhat 
 ^rononce but handsomely-shaped chin. The old 
 gossips of Hawkestone never could understand 
 how two such very handsome people could come 
 together so often without falling in love ; as if 
 there were more gravitation in beauty than in 
 ugliness ; for it^s all owing to the laws of gravi- 
 tation after all.
 
 WHO RIDES THE EOVER ? 91 
 
 It was tlie week before Easter ; a few people 
 were in town — not many — and Harold Falcon 
 was among them. On the steps of a small house 
 next door to what is now the Wellington, but 
 which was then Crockford's, Lord Borodaile was 
 sunning himself, while waiting for his horses. 
 
 ' Hallo, Prendergast, where are you going ? ' 
 
 ' To Dick Carruthers, to inquire after the 
 Rover. There was a report at the club this morn- 
 ing that he wasn^t all right.^ 
 
 'Then wait a minute, old fellow, and you'll 
 know all about it : here comes Harold Falcon. 
 He's his principal supporter. He's coming by 
 Herries' now. I know him at any distance. He 
 looks as if he ought to have twenty thousand a- 
 year. I wish he had.' 
 
 ' Talking of that, they say Hawkestone's very 
 ill — at least, in very bad health.' 
 
 ' I'm afraid yoa're travelling a long way for 
 the twenty thousand. The old peer has four 
 sons, and the three last are as strong as cart- 
 horses, and take as much care of themselves as a 
 half-bred'un through diet. And Hawkostone 
 has the influenza, that's all. Well, Harold, tell 
 us the news.' 
 
 ' News ? Coronation's sure to win the Derby; 
 and they're going to insist upon residence, and
 
 92 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 some strong measures of ecclesiastical reform, 
 after the recess. Perhaps my cousin will give 
 up his prospects in the Church/ replied Harold 
 in a tone of great good-humour, as if he never 
 had a care ; and if that Jamaica-coloured insur- 
 rectionist sits behind such a horseman as Ha- 
 rold he must have a very hard time of it over a 
 country. 
 
 ' Then you'd better go in for the family living/ 
 said Lord Borodaile. 
 
 ' They might make some unpleasant remarks 
 about his care for the dead ones/ said Pren- 
 dergast. 
 
 ' No — I've no wish to emulate our friend, the 
 Montgomeryshire handicapper, who was so tickled 
 with his performances on two or three occasions, 
 that he got his son made coroner for the county. 
 At present Pm in search of the odds about the 
 Rover,' replied Harold. 
 
 ' The very horse we were talking of. It's all 
 right, I suppose — because they were talking 
 treason at the club.' 
 
 ' Were they ? then you go and back him right 
 royally,' said Harold. 
 
 ' Wliere are you going to look for the odds, 
 Falcon ? ' 
 
 ^At Long's; there's half the university in
 
 WHO EIDES THE R0"VT:R ? 93 
 
 London ; and it^s difficult to know wlietlier tliey 
 are only reckless^ or whetlier they are really as 
 ignorant as they affect to he.' This sounds al- 
 most like an anachronism for our own time. 
 
 'And wlio kas Carrutkers got to ride kim V 
 said Prendergastj referring to tke subject once 
 more after a pause. 
 
 ' I believe tkat man McPulkam — I don't like 
 him much.' 
 
 ' Not a good horseman?' inquired Lord Boro- 
 daile. 
 
 ' Too good,' said the other; 'he can stop them 
 when he likes.' 
 
 * Is McPulham a gentleman ?' 
 ' So he says — at all events he's a gentleman- 
 rider.' 
 
 ' Does he get anything now for riding ? ' said 
 Prendergast. 
 
 ' He says not. He's only put on so much to 
 nothing, which answers the same purpose if he 
 wins. When he loses, I don't know what he 
 does. They say he looks out for himself, and 
 leaves his backers to settle it among themselves.' 
 ' You stand a lot of money on the horse, don't 
 you. Falcon ? Why don't you insist upon riding 
 yourself?' 
 
 ' He's not my horse, and Carruthers knows
 
 94 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 McPulliam can ride him well enough if lie likes — 
 better than I can. Besides, they heard me lay 
 four thousand against him/ 
 
 ' But they know you've taken seven.' 
 *^You do; so does Borodaile. So do half-a- 
 dozen more, and I hope Cranstone hasn't forgotten 
 it. But there are hundreds who don't, and if the 
 horse made a mistake, and he's never made one 
 yet, I believe, you know what a nice set they are. 
 The layers of fifteen sovereigns to five would pull 
 you off your horse, while the losers of thousands 
 would take the earliest opportunity of inquiring 
 whether 'the horse is meant to-day?' There 
 are men who don't conceive it possible for a horse 
 to lose a race when they have backed him, and 
 who have gone on to the turf with a full assurance 
 that there's not an honest man, but themselves, 
 belonging to it. The only reason these fellows 
 are not rogues is that they have not brains 
 enough for the business.' Saying which, and 
 shaking an adieu with his glove to his friends, 
 he took his way to Dick Carruthers' house in 
 Piccadilly. 
 
 The truth is that Harold Falcon was not quite 
 satisfied with the jockey who was to ride the 
 Rover; and as a question of about four thousand 
 pounds depended upon his success, he thought it 
 advisable to look after the business himself.
 
 WHO EIDES THE KOVER ? 95 
 
 Carruthers lie knew could have no object in risk- 
 ing his reputation for a dead loss, for he knew 
 that he at least had backed his horse honestly. 
 But Dick was surrounded unhappily by such a 
 very unscrupulous lot that they would not hesitate 
 to sacrifice him if it would serve their purpose. 
 
 McPulham's own character was pi-etty well 
 known. He was a very superior horseman, per- 
 haps the best in Ireland — over a country which 
 may be taken to include England. But if his 
 horsemanship was Hibernian, so was his position 
 in society. In Ireland he was a gentleman for 
 two purposes — to ride against and to fight ; and 
 it probably was accorded him from the great love 
 of sport and fighting, which at that period dis- 
 tinguished that gem of the sea. In England, but 
 for this spurious reputation, he would have been 
 allowed to claim' the position on neither grounds; 
 for his associates were trainers and jockeys, and 
 his manners and conversation belonged to the 
 training-ground and the stable-yard. What his 
 family might have been it would have been need- 
 less to inquire; he had no ostensible means of 
 living but that which he derived by his sobriquet 
 of gentleman-rider ', and if his father had been 
 really a gentleman, he was most assuredly the 
 last of the family who had any pretension to the 
 name.
 
 96 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE PAETY AT THE HOLT. 
 
 The recess was overj and there was but one 
 meeting before tbe Derby^ and tliat was Water- 
 park. It was one of those wbicli bad been estab- 
 lished some years before^ when Waterpark was a 
 small spa, the support of one physician and two 
 livery- stablekeepers. Eventually it became 
 fashionable ; and, from sallow-cheeked Indians 
 with dried livers, and over-fed, cart-bred car- 
 riage horses, it rejoiced, as a winter residence, 
 in hard-riding bachelors, officers on leave, and 
 offshoots from Oxford and Cambridge, who, from 
 some unknown causes, preferred to spend their 
 vacation at Waterpark. As regards these latter, 
 the place assumed the position of the Calais or 
 Boulogne of bankruptcy ; and there wasn't a 
 scapegrace who had been rusticated, or who 
 wanted to keep three horses instead of one, who 
 didn't persuade his friends that Waterpark was 
 good for his health. A pack of hounds, of which
 
 THE PARTY AT THE HOLT. 97 
 
 one killed and two or three disabled every day- 
 was a moderate computation, gave rise to so mucli 
 competition among the visitors, that the master 
 suggested an annual steeplechase, of which he 
 was the great patron, and to which he liberally- 
 subscribed. A^Tiether he found this cheaper in 
 the end or not, I can^t say ; possibly not ; it was 
 only cutting the ditch at one end with the view 
 of filling it up at the other ; but it produced a 
 meeting at the conclusion of the hunting season, 
 which had then become one of the most fashionable 
 among the provincials, and has since become one 
 of the most important in the kingdom. 
 
 The Holt was full ; and one week before the 
 races, the men most interested in their success, 
 those who had horses, and those who had bets, 
 and those whose vocation it is to wander about 
 from country-house to country-house, tame cats, 
 raconteurs, gentleman-jockeys, black squires, and 
 hon vicants, had assembled in sufficient quantities 
 at Dick Carruthers' hospitable board. It was 
 the great house of Waterpark. There was no- 
 thing within ten miles of the place as good, and 
 on occasions like the present it was always open. 
 
 If any man is curious about the individual 
 company, I refer him to the Morning Post, or the 
 Waterpark Gazette, a well-paying emanation from 
 
 VOL. I. 7
 
 9S LORD falcoxbekg's heir. 
 
 the literary talent of the neighbourhood, and the 
 defunct Satirist, in which the peculiarities of more 
 than one of the partv were most unsparingly held 
 up to ridicule. Those with whom we hare to do 
 in these pages, I shall endearour to describe as 
 far as may be necessary for our purpose. 
 
 I said the pari:y was a lai^e one, and it was a 
 sporting one. The occupations of the party not 
 being those of the Archbishop of CanterbuiTj it 
 must not appear strange that their conversation 
 was different, from that of His Grace and the 
 Bench of Bishops ; although I know that to make 
 people talk as they do talk is not by any means 
 the shortest road to popularity. There's nothing 
 so flattering to others as to make your puppets 
 talk about things they don't understand. To 
 meet a fool eren in a book should be an implied 
 compliment to somebody. 
 
 There were twenty people at dinner. Lord 
 Chesterton, a quiet gentlemanly person, holding 
 office as the master of the buckhounds, was ex- 
 plaining the necessity and difficulty of keeping 
 the Conservative party togetherj and complaining 
 of the inefficient registration as compared with 
 that of the large towns. 
 
 ' They have sprung up so wonderf'ully of late 
 years that it requires very little management on
 
 THE PARTY AT THE HOLT. 99 
 
 their part to swamp the counties,* said Lord 
 Chesterton, who, to tell the truth, was rather 
 anxious to get rid of the extremely horsey con- 
 versation which took the place of every remark. 
 'If they could but get the right men. There 
 seems always a difficulty about that.' 
 
 ' They should get a foxhunter or two among 
 them, my Lord,* said a Captain Child ers — ^who 
 went by the name of Flying Childers — an Oxford- 
 shire man. 
 
 ' The foxhunters belong to tis, I fancy, to a 
 man,' replied Lord Chesterton. 
 
 ' Then let 'em try the stag,' returned the Fly- 
 ing Captain, amid a roar of laughter, who, how- 
 ever excellent to hounds, was not blessed with 
 quite the same knowledge of men as of country. 
 
 ' I hope, Dick, Pve said nothing — ' 
 
 ' Nothing in the world, Childers,' said the 
 host. ' Chesterton is tmfortnnately situated, and 
 obhged to keep a pack of staghounds for his 
 sins.' 
 
 'Xonsense, Cranstone,' shouted some one, 
 ' don't be unruly. The horse can win : nobody 
 will lay more than three to one at all events. 
 McPulham knows he can win.' 
 
 ' Faith, Sir Hariy, I know nothing of the sort.^ 
 I know he will if mv ridincr can make him.
 
 100 LORD FALCONBERG's HEIR. 
 
 Zitella's a good animal^ I believe^ but I never saw 
 lier go/ 
 
 ' They think it's reduced to a match. What 
 will any one lay against Cupid ? ' The inquiry was 
 made by a fast cornet of cavalry. 
 
 ' I'll lay you seven hundred to one/ replied 
 the Irishman, at once pulling out a book, which 
 seemed as well fitted to the tails of a dress-coat as 
 to the side-pocket of a frock. ' FU do it in fifties 
 or hundreds.' 
 
 The cornet received a gentle kick under the 
 table, which he had brains enough to acknow- 
 ledge by holding his tongue. 
 
 'What are likely really to go for it/ said 
 Harold Falcon at last, waking up from an appar- 
 ent dream : for the conversation had got, at one 
 end of the table, so thoroughly into the groove 
 that it was impossible to get it out. 
 
 ' Five or six at least. Captain Falcon,' replied 
 McPulham. ' Be dad ! I'm glad to hear the 
 Captain's not going to be one of 'em,' This was 
 not addressed to Harold, but was said loud 
 enough for him to hear. ' It 'ud change the odds 
 anyhow.' 
 
 Now Falcon disliked this implied flattery, 
 and how little like the honhommle of the true 
 Irish gentleman it was, many of our readers know.
 
 THE PARTY AT THE HOLT. 101 
 
 ' WIlo^U go to the ball on Friday? Cranstone, 
 you^ll go : and Chesterton. Falcon, are balls in 
 your way ? ' 
 
 'I'll go with great pleasure, though Vm. 
 better in the saddle than on my feet, since my 
 accident.' He had met with one to his foot some 
 time back. 
 
 ' We'll all go : those that can't act the bear 
 can look like the jackass/ suggested Tom Rey- 
 nolds, who was allowed some latitude in vulgarity, 
 in the strength of being considered a wit. He was 
 only an author. Chesterton stared, and Dick 
 Carrruthers asked if any one would take any more 
 claret. As every one declined, he desired Falcon 
 to help himself to the sherry, and send it round. 
 ' Some that my grandfather imported when he 
 was ambassador at Madrid.' 
 
 ' Then, be dad ! we'll drink the ould boy's 
 health,' exclaimed McPulham, who had already 
 done so. ' I'm glad he left his sherry behind 
 him. What say you, my Lord ?' Saying which Mc 
 Pulham helped himself, and pushed the bottle to 
 Lord Cranstone, who sat near him. The com- 
 pany looked up, and Carruthers thought it time to 
 retire. 
 
 It had been remarked that Lord Cranstone, 
 who was usually a talkative person, and singularly
 
 102 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 agreeable in society^ liad scarcely spoken. He 
 had made one remark only on tke subject of the 
 horses^ and had then relapsed into an almost 
 monosyllabic conversation with his neighbour. 
 ' Cranstone^ old fellow/ said Lord Borodaile' 
 ' you're not up to the mark/ 
 
 ^ Bit of a headache. What sort of a night is 
 it ? ' And Cranstone went oat to see. 
 
 It was the custom at the Holt, being indeed 
 a custom much honoured in the observance to re- 
 tire for the evening to the billiard-room_, where 
 men could smoke without that offence to others, 
 of which we are not ignorant since the railway 
 controversy has brought it prominently forward. 
 It is undoubtedly true that, with a feeling of per- 
 fect independence, men would light a cigar in the 
 breakfast-room, or the library, or stand five 
 minutes smoking in any part of the house, so 
 much latitude has always been given or taken in 
 such houses ; but men of the world never tread 
 on their neighbours' toes, whether they hurt them 
 or not ; so, by tacit consent, there was a billiard- 
 room to which they usually resorted. Thus it 
 happened on the night in question, that at least 
 two-thirds of the party had retreated thither, 
 after running their eyes over the morning papers. 
 The room was warm, as indeed Avere some of the
 
 THE PAETY AT THE HOLT. 103 
 
 disquisitions on tlie coming opera : were we to 
 have Rubini and Grisi again ? and were Lablaclie 
 and Tambarini to be fortlicoming from Paris ? 
 on the Derby horses, and the four-in-hand club, 
 D'Orsay's hog-maned cab-horse, and Sambo 
 Sutton and the Oxford Pet, with half-a-dozen 
 other subjects about as intellectual. 
 
 In the middle of it all, leaving it unsettled 
 whether Tony Fosbroke ran away with Lady 
 Elizabeth Bouncibel, or she with him, and whether 
 Joe Tollitt was a better lio^ht-weiofht coachman 
 than Jack Bramble, Harold Falcon found the 
 room a little hot. It was accidental on his 
 part, not being usually observant of tempera- 
 ture, or of anything else which affected only 
 his physique. To-night, however, it was dif- 
 ferent, and he sought refuge in the hall, when he 
 wondered whether Black Diamond was like what 
 he was represented to be, and whether the fox- 
 hounds, which were jumping up on the clean 
 leathers of a former Richard Carruthers, left no 
 mark. The scarlet coats and resplendent waist- 
 coats of Anne, and the Jacobite heroes of George 
 I. and II., did nothing towards cooling our hero ; 
 so he walked into a large conservatory, which 
 opened upon the side of the hall farthest from the 
 billiard-room, and had au egress at the other
 
 104 LOED FALCONE erg's HEIR. 
 
 end upon tlie lawn and towards the shrubberies. 
 
 Harold continued to smoke bis cigar as be 
 tbougbt over bis cbances of winning a few thou- 
 sands on the steeplechase, which would be some- 
 thing more than useful to him just now ; and in a 
 rather more contemplative mood than usual, he 
 sat himself down at the foot of one of the large 
 orange-trees, where he could feel the cooling 
 night-breeze which entered by a window left 
 purposely open for the hardening of some of 
 the plants. Harold Falcon's knowledge of the 
 premises enabled him to find his way to this seat 
 even in the dark. 
 
 He had not sat there many minutes when 
 voices, as of men speaking loudly, but not suspi- 
 cious of eaves-droppers, fell upon his ear. He 
 was scarcely conscious at first of what they were 
 saying; and when he was so, he was about to 
 move away, when he heard something which it 
 was not in his power to avoid listening to. 
 
 ' He can be stopped only in our part of the 
 course, in the hollow. Nobody comes down 
 there, and if it's to be done at all, it must be done 
 there.' The voice, or rather the accent, was un- 
 mistakable. It was McPulham. 
 
 The reply came slowly, and after a moment's 
 consideration. *■ The horse's pace is well known
 
 THE PARTY AT THE HOLT. 105 
 
 here; lie can give the mare a stone at leasts I 
 hear, and a beating. The only doubt is his re- 
 fusing. Since I laid against him, they say he 
 has much improved ; but with that peculiarity of 
 temper, I think a horseman can have no difficulty 
 in making him turn.' Harold did not recognize 
 the speaker. ' Nor in making him jump, I sup- 
 pose,' said the other. ' Faith, it takes only a 
 little more money.' ' I think there need be no 
 question of that between us,' saying which the 
 speakers both moved on. 
 
 There could be no doubt on Harold Falcon's 
 mind as to the subject of this fragment of convers- 
 ation. No horse could be meant but the Rover, 
 and no race but Ihe one in which he was inter- 
 ested, as it was the only steeplechase of the 
 meeting. If any uncertainty could have existed, 
 the voice of McPulham as one of the speakers 
 would have cleared that up. Now Avho was the 
 other ? 
 
 Harold Falcon walked straight through the 
 conservatory, across the hall, and into the billiard- 
 room, whence he had retreated some ten minutes 
 before. He was not much cooler, it must be ad- 
 mitted. He looked round the room, and he saw 
 that about half-a-dozen of the company were ab- 
 sent. Lord Borodaile was gone to bed. Lord
 
 106 LOED falconberg's heir. 
 
 Chesterton was smoking^ Childers was — nobody- 
 knew where^ and McPulliam and Lord Cran- 
 stone were the other absentees. Of course a 
 time does come when the most inveterate smokers 
 and biUiard-players must go to bed^ and at the 
 Holt it came at last. 
 
 ' Carruthers/ said Harold, with a face full of 
 anxiety, ' let's have five words with you.' 
 
 ' Certainly. Come into my room ; bring your 
 cigar, you can finish it there. Why, Harold, you 
 look as if you had seen a ghost.' 
 
 ' I wish I had. What I've seen is more 
 material.' And then he related to his host 
 what he had heard. Dick looked quite incre- 
 dulous. 
 
 'Are you sure. Falcon? I know you're not a 
 likely man to make a mistake, but are you sure ? 
 because you know, old fellow, this is rather a 
 serious charge.' 
 
 ^ Against McPulham, it is so ; but I shall 
 not shrink from the responsibility.' 
 
 ^ And who was the other ? You must have 
 some sort of suspicion.' 
 
 ' I don't know, Dick, and I'd rather not have 
 any suspicions; at all events, it won't do to state 
 them.' 
 
 ' And what do you want me to do about the
 
 THE PARTY AT THE HOLT. 107 
 
 liorse. He's a j&rst-rate jockey ; and you kuow 
 IVe backed liim heavily myself.' 
 
 ' He mustn't ride — he can't ride — at least 
 among English gentlemen^ and you must stop 
 him. This is one of those cases in which it's your 
 duty, as well as interest, to interfere.' 
 
 ' What am I to do with a man who came all 
 the way from Ireland to ride for me ? Because 
 after all, Harold, it is but one man's word against 
 another's. What excuse can I make to get rid 
 of the man ? Cranstone's the only man that's 
 taken him up at all, and that must be mere civil- 
 ity, for he'd rather see him dead than riding the 
 Kover.' 
 
 ' I don't know.' And a very curious expres- 
 sion passed over Harold's face. ' Will you let me 
 ride the horse myself ? ' 
 
 ' But what am I to do with the other fellow ? 
 He'll want to fight.' 
 
 ^Then let me have the fighting too. Any- 
 thing's better than a row on the turf; it gets us 
 all a bad name. I'll manage the Irishman ; and as 
 to fighting, there's only one man in the house 
 could or need fight him after what I've heard to- 
 night, if he were twenty Irishmen. Leave it to 
 me.' With which Harold Falcon took his candle 
 and his leave, and went to bed.
 
 108 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A GENTLEMAN-EIDER WITHOUT A MOUNT. 
 
 I THINK there's a story of a friend of mine whicli 
 redounds more to liis credit as a wit tlian an 
 honest man. He liad been guilty of that unpar- 
 donable offence in the eyes of rich men, of not 
 paying his debts, when he was detected in the 
 equally unpardonable offence in the eyes of ardent 
 sportsmen of sleeping long into the day when he 
 ought to have been starting for cover. ' I can't 
 think/ said his friend rather irascibly, 'how a 
 fellow who owes so much money can sleep at all : 
 you've only got twenty minutes to dress and 
 breakfast.' ' I can't think/ replied the unfeeling 
 sluggard, ' ho w the fellows to whom I owe it can 
 sleep at all : ' saying which he tumbled into his 
 bath, and wasn't drowned. 
 
 ■ Now I don't know how an Irish gentleman 
 about to commit a public robbery (for I hear that 
 race-horses belong to you and me, just as much as 
 to the persons who buy them and feed them.
 
 A GENTLEMAN-EIDER WITHOUT A MOUNT. 109 
 
 wliicli seems rather odd) usually sleeps; but on 
 the morning after the previous conversation he 
 was still enjoying apparently peaceful slumber^ 
 when a servant brought him a note. 
 
 The note was from Harold Falcon ; and simply 
 asked for the honour of an interview of a few 
 minutes, if possible, before Mr McPulham left 
 his room. Having no suspicion of the motive 
 which had prompted the request, it was readily 
 granted; and in ten minutes^ time Harold was 
 admitted, while McPulham performed certain 
 duties of his toilet. At the moment of our heroes 
 arrival he was engaged in removing the crop of 
 superfluous stubble which one night had raised 
 upon his lip and chin : for those were times when 
 to have ridden a race in a beard would have called 
 down the unequivocal ridicule of the English 
 spectators. A chimney-pot hat under the same 
 circumstances would have been less reprehensible. 
 
 Harold apologized, and was about to beat a 
 retreat. 
 
 Mr McPulham begged the Captain wouldn't 
 mention it : as he wanted to see him before break- 
 fast, he hoped he wouldn't object, &c., &c., with 
 those natural explanations which might have 
 been expected on either side. 
 
 ' Unfortunately,' said the Captain, ' my busi-
 
 no 
 
 ness admits of no delay. You were to liave ridden 
 tlie Rover in the steeplechase to-morrow/ 
 
 ' I presume/ said the jockey^ turning suddenly- 
 round with one half of his face lather and the 
 other crimson^ ' you mean to say I am to ride the 
 Rover to-morrow.' 
 
 ' Certainly^ unless I can persuade you to relin- 
 quish your claim on Mr Carruthers.' 
 
 ^ Hardly, Captain Falcon. Faith ! is it in favour 
 of yourself that Fd be asked to do so. Fve money 
 on the race, sir.' 
 
 ' And I too : and unless you wish to lose it, I 
 should recommend you to trust the Rover to me, 
 Mr McPulham.' 
 
 McPulham turned from the glass in which 
 he was affecting to shave, for he had been much 
 too nervous from the beginning of the colloquy to 
 do much in that way, and deliberately faced the 
 speaker, placing his razor upon the dressing- 
 table, but forgetting to remove the remains of 
 either soap or beard. 
 
 ' Will you do me the favour to explain that 
 language. Captain Falcon ? ' 
 
 ' It would give me pain to be obliged to do 
 so, Mr McPulham : but if you have forgotten 
 the conversation into which you entered last night 
 I shall be compelled to prompt your memory.'
 
 A GENTLEMAN-RIDER WITHOUT A MOUNT. Ill 
 
 ' Pray^ sir, did Mr Carrutliers send you here 
 to insult me ? because an Irish gentleman has but 
 one answer to such insinuations/ And McPul- 
 ham sat down or leant against the foot of his bed, 
 and folding his arms waited for Harold^ s reply. 
 
 ' Insinuations might warrant that language 
 and attitude ; but I have to prefer a direct charge 
 against you of an intention to pull or stop in some 
 way or other the Rover. Hear me out, sir, if 
 you please,^ said Harold, as the other rose from 
 the bed prepared to deny it. ' You may imagine 
 whether I shall rest in insinuations when I tell 
 you that I was in the conservatory when you 
 were standing outside of it last night : and the 
 windows were open.^ 
 
 '' And were you the only person with talent 
 or dishonesty enough to invent this precious 
 story ? ' for McPulham had quite brains enough 
 to know that one man's word is as good as another 
 practically, if not morally. 
 
 ' Two persons, sir, were auditors of your con- 
 versation : we know in what part of the course 
 your intended fraud was to have been practised, 
 and it shall be frustrated.' McPulham had lost 
 all courage and all colour, and sat gloomily and 
 sulkily upon the bed. However, it was necessary 
 to say something.
 
 112 LORD FALCONBERG's HEIR. 
 
 'That's not language, sir, to address to an 
 Irisli gentleman/ 
 
 'It never would have been addressed to a 
 gentleman of any country, sir/ replied Harold, 
 whose natural prejudice was increased to an 
 unwonted extent by the confirmation of his suspi- 
 cions. ' If Mr Carruthers were to publish this 
 morning what he knows of your conversation last 
 night, there's not a man in the house would 
 sit down to breakfast with you : and as to any 
 countenance in a meeting to which your own lan- 
 guage points, I don't know what may be the 
 customs of your country, or for what purposes a 
 man may be considered to rank as a gentleman : 
 I can only tell you that in this, the less that is 
 said of such a business the better. I shall be 
 especially cautious in my remarks, and I can 
 answer for the other recipient of your intentions 
 not betraying you. I pledge you my honour for 
 both of us ; but my advice is that you retire as 
 soon as possible : you may be quite certain that 
 your apology will be accepted by Mr Carruthers, 
 and that a jockey will be found to supply your 
 place for to-morrow — if not so accomplished a 
 horseman, at least capable of winning on such a 
 horse as the Rover.' Saying which, with a very 
 profound bow, Harold Falcon left Mr McPul-
 
 A GENTLEMAN-RIDER WITHOUT A MOUNT. 113 
 
 ham to conclude an operation wliich had been 
 delayed by so very unjDleasant a communication. 
 
 McPulham took bis breakfast in his own 
 room. Business of importance took him to 
 Ireland, and he trusted Oarruthers would be able 
 to find a substitute for him as a rider. 
 
 Harold informed Dick of the result of his in- 
 terview, and gave him a pithy account of its 
 details. 
 
 * And who was the other man who heard this 
 scheme of robbery concocted ? ' 
 
 ' Upon my honour, Dick, I wish you could tell 
 me ; that there was another besides me that heard 
 it all, is undoubted; and he^s just as great a 
 scoundrel as the fellow who announces his inten- 
 tion of starting by the mail to-night for Ireland. 
 However, we're well rid of the most active con- 
 spirator, and youVe nothing now to do but to 
 look after the horse. I'll do my part to win your 
 money, you may depend upon it.' Saying which 
 Harold turned short round, and walked off to the 
 stables, while Dick Carruthers admired the in- 
 genuity which had saved him a vast amount of 
 trouble, to say nothing of the prospect of a heavy 
 loss in pocket and reputation. Harold Falcon was 
 disposed to regard his successful deceit as an in- 
 genious device for saving his own.
 
 114 LORD FALCONBERg's HEIR. 
 
 In an hour or two tliey went to tlie races : it 
 was the first day, and though, the company 
 usually reserved itself for the steeplechases, 
 which was a sport then neither so common nor 
 in so bad odour as since, there was a very hand- 
 some show of the county aristocracy, of the 
 visitors, and of the racing community present. 
 Amongst the first were conspicuous the occupants 
 of Dick Carruthers' drag, which came on to the 
 course with a form and character unapproach- 
 able in the present day, excepting by some 
 half dozen of those noblemen and gentlemen 
 who have brought with them an art learnt be- 
 fore the Stokers and Pokers were all-power- 
 ful. Charles Tyrwhitt Jones was then on the 
 road, and Sir J. Vincent Cotton was on the 
 Age. Sir Henry Peyton drove his piebalds, and 
 John Spicer his grays. Lord Chesterfield, George 
 Payne, Mr Yillebois, Major Macgennis, the late 
 Duke of Beaufort, and many more (whose mantles 
 have descended on a chosen few, the present 
 Duke, Captains Bastard and Cooper, Baillie, and 
 Lord Poulett, and another Sir Henry Peyton), had 
 brought to perfection one of the most beautiful 
 of our national amusements. So on the course, 
 among the well-appointed drags, and exactly 
 opposite the grand stand, Harold Falcon drew
 
 A GENTLEMAN-EIDER WITHOUT A MOUNT. 115 
 
 up Dick Carrutliers^ team, a deliglit to tlie ad- 
 miring crowd. 
 
 On the opposite side we have said was the 
 grand stand. To those forming their notions of 
 a stand from that of Ascot or Goodwood, of 
 Epsom or Doncaster, it would have appeared 
 homely; to the magnates of the county, to the 
 manager, clerk, and handicapper, to the Town 
 Council and the race-committee, the building in 
 question was magnificent. Nothing seemed to 
 be wanting. Having ascended the stairs, and 
 paid your money, on the right was a private 
 door leading to a room devoted to the stewards 
 and their friends. From thence, through the 
 open windows, they were enabled to address 
 their acquaintances below, on the lawn, or to 
 take the odds, which they were ever ready to 
 do, ofiered in the modest tones of the ring-men, 
 since then grown jnto a body, leviathan all 
 over; leviathan in lungs, numbers, impudence, 
 and estate. 
 
 Next to this was a longer stand, in which the 
 beauty and elegance of the aristocracy and the 
 visitors loved to sun itself. The gaping rustics 
 from the course, and the betting-men, jockeys, 
 gents, and hnendrapers, stared with unabated 
 curiosity at the silks, satins, ringlets, flowers.
 
 116 LORD FALCONBERG's HEIR. 
 
 featliers and bonnets of the ladies; wliile tliey 
 paraded themselves in light straps and badly 
 fitting white-duck trowsers^ cut-a-way coats^ and 
 four-and-ninepenny gossamers, futile imitations 
 of the well-made clothes of their betters. But 
 then you see we have known since then the 
 happiness of an approaching equality ; and the 
 blessings of free-trade and the rights of man 
 have enabled us all to dress pretty much alike : 
 and all like blackguards. As, moreover, it was 
 felt that there was a great distinction between 
 the accredited swells of the county and any mere 
 waifs and strays of Waterpark-life, this stand 
 was barred to all but those who were prepared 
 with a steward^s ticket, price one guinea, instead 
 of half that amount, and granted by voucher 
 from the stewards, or master of the hounds. 
 
 The rest of the building was occupied by that 
 mighty majority known as nobody, and by the 
 payment of their half-guineas and crowns, adding 
 mightily to the funds of the race-committee and 
 to the respectability of the meeting. There was 
 too a vast crowd of some thirty thousand vaga- 
 bonds, who have since laid siege to Government 
 for votes, and whom Mr Lowe recommends to 
 pay a sufficient rental to get them. They en- 
 joyed themselves very much, having arrived from
 
 A GENTLEMAN-KIDEE WITHOUT A MOUNT. 117 
 
 a sort of black country in the neiglibourliood, 
 and taking jDleasure in tke racing as a make-sliift 
 for their favourite sport of cocking. The magis- 
 trates, driven by the legislature, or the legislature 
 by the magistrates, had lately launched their 
 thunderbolts against this ; and as they couldn't 
 make them learned, were determined to make 
 them virtuous against their will. 
 
 In the first of these places, the stewards' seat, 
 were the Duke of Chessingham, Admiral Target, 
 Lord Chesshampton, Sir Samuel Corduroy, and 
 a dozen others, with the master of the Waterpark 
 hounds, and one of the members for the county. 
 They were all gentlemen of good repute, honest, 
 upright sportsmen ; anxious for the integrity of 
 the sport they professed to enjoy. The Duke 
 of Chessingham had a great name, a vast estate, 
 all of which he spent, and something more, 
 having race-horses, and a pack of fox-hounds, 
 a yacht, three large houses, and some extrava- 
 gant sons. The Admiral was the very stay 
 and backbone of racing, the terror of evil- 
 doers, the best handicapper in England, and 
 one of the most unflinching denouncers of ras- 
 cality wherever and whenever it came under 
 his eye. As to Lord Chesshampton, his life was 
 passed in the business of the turf. He had but
 
 118 LORD FALCONBERG's HEIR. 
 
 four tliousand a-year, and had five-and-forty 
 horses in training. Lived upon it ? of course lie 
 did ; what in the world else was he to live on ? 
 He couldn^t sweep the crossing at Limmer's — 
 indeed that enviable ]jied a terre was occupied by 
 a black man with a wooden leg^ whose gains, 
 however considerable, were dependent on regular 
 work ; while Lord Chesshampton^s gains were 
 said rather to depend upon regular play. But 
 there they all were, and no man but a sceptic 
 could doubt that their first object was the im- 
 provement of j the breed of horses; an object 
 which unfortunately up to this time they have 
 never accomplished. 
 
 It was a very pleasant day ; the racing was 
 good, the people happy, and Mr Flimsey, the 
 manager and clerk of the course, in his very best 
 form. The glossy splendour of his toilet, the 
 venerable roll of his hat, almost episcopal, the 
 suavity of his manner, and the liberty of his con- 
 science in favour of his fi'iends' horses, left no- 
 thing to be desired. Everything was there, even 
 to the dog, which occasionally appears on the 
 course now, especially on Derby days. This year 
 — Hermit^s year — it was a black one. 
 
 Harold Falcon had won a hundred or two ; 
 but his mind had been singularly occupied in
 
 A GENTLEMAN-EIDER WITHOUT A MOUNT. 119 
 
 thinking of McPulliam and liis associate : who 
 was he ? 
 
 ^What's become of McPulham, Dick?' in- 
 quired one or two, when they found him not on 
 the coach. 
 
 ' Business in Ireland. He's gone off to town 
 to catch the night-mail to Holyhead.' It will be 
 remembered that we are not writing of railroad 
 days. 
 
 ' Then he can't ride the Rover to-morrow. 
 Who are you going to put up ? ' 
 
 ' Harold Falcon's going to ride him.' 
 
 * He'll sell youj Dick — he's laid three thou- 
 sand to one against him.' 
 
 ^ And taken seven. I think I can trust Harold 
 if I can anybody.' And he certainly could. In 
 the mean time Harold had a strong suspicion, 
 but had no means of verifying it. 
 
 They were just leaving the course, when, in 
 the crowd leaving the stand. Lord Cranstone 
 and Harold were wedged together close to the 
 Duke of Chessingham. 
 
 ' Have you done any good to-day, Cranstone V 
 said the Duke. 
 
 'Lost like the devil, Duke. I've gone against 
 the favourites, and they've done nothing but win 
 all day.'^
 
 120 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 ' So they will nine times out of ten^ if they're 
 really backed. The British public is a very good 
 judge. Who rides Dick Carruthers' horse to- 
 morrow ?' 
 
 'McPulham, I believe^' said Cranstone, with 
 much coolness. 
 
 ' I think not/ replied Harold. ' I have the 
 mount.'' He spoke loudly and pointedly, and 
 watched the effect on Cranstone. It was electri- 
 cal. Every particle of colour left his face for a 
 minute, a stony look appeared in his large blue 
 eyes, and then there returned his usual confident ■ 
 smile, as he said, ' Nonsense, Falcon ; what's be- 
 come of McPulham, then? he was asked here 
 on purpose to ride — he came with you this morn- 
 ing ?' And the same blank look took possession 
 of him again, as he remembered that he had not 
 seen him at all on the course. Lord Cranstone 
 himself had ridden a hack up an hour before the 
 time, as he wanted to get on something, and did 
 not feel disposed to wait for the drag. 
 
 ' No ; he went to London this morning : and 
 he's not likely to return.' By which time they 
 were down-stairs. One went to the drag, the 
 other to look for his hack, and the former knew 
 who the partner in the conspiracy had been. 
 But Falcon held his tongue, and watched him.
 
 A GENTLEMAN-RIDER WITHOUT A MOUNT. 121 
 
 The fact is that his vigilance was thrown 
 away. First of all, the honesty of Carruthers' 
 servants was unimpeachable. Excepting by some 
 manoeuvre beyond Cranstone's unaided powers, 
 the horse was quite safe. Beyond this, Cran- 
 stone's real opinion was that the horse could not 
 win. He had laid against him long before ; and, 
 not satisj&ed with that, had backed Zitella. He 
 had met with a ready tool or confederate by ac- 
 cident in Mr McPulham, and had endeavoured 
 to make assurance doubly sure : his great fear 
 was that he might have been detected. He saw 
 no signs of that in the conduct of any of the 
 party, and was persuaded that the Irishman was 
 gone on some unexpected business, quite uncon- 
 nected with the race. 
 
 Harold Falcon kept his suspicions to himself. 
 As to Dick Carruthers, having got rid of the 
 man who was likely to do him any injury, he was 
 satisfied : and being perfectly comfortable in the 
 hands of his friend Falcon, he gave himself no 
 further anxiety on the subject.
 
 122 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE EACE. 
 
 The old-fasHoned steeplechase of fifty years 
 ago was so totally different from those of modem 
 times, 'that I must devote a few lines to an ex- 
 planation of the steps by which it had reached 
 its peculiar form at Waterpark, and which was 
 but a type of its present perfections. 
 
 There was a time, and men may regard it as 
 akin to the golden age, when a certain number 
 of enthusiastic foxhunters, having had a bad 
 day^s sport, and having nothing to do with an 
 odd ten-pound note (which in the miserable slang 
 of these days would be called a 'tenner'), deter- 
 mined upon a pure trial of nerve and horseflesh 
 on their road home. A steeple is by no means 
 an unimportant object even in a hunting coun- 
 try ; and the natural one to which a man's hopes 
 turn, metaphorically or literally, as a land-mark, 
 when no other is in view. The notion that any 
 particular compliment to the church was implied
 
 THE RACE. 123 
 
 is a mistake^ due possibly to tlie ritualistic pro- 
 clivities of a Spurgeon or a Gumming, or some 
 other great man. Hence the word steeplechase, 
 which has remained in vogue long after the ex- 
 planation of the most zealous respondent to 
 ^ Notes and Queries ' has died out, does not by 
 any means shadow forth the church as the object 
 of its pursuers. • 
 
 The next step towards pure laicism was the 
 summary rejection of the steeple altogether; and 
 a start for any well-known point, as the flag on 
 the top of a hill, or the conservatory of a con- 
 spicuous gentleman^s seat. Until in more de- 
 generate times, finding that disputes arose as to 
 who first jumped on to the lawn or into the water- 
 butt, or who went up a lane or opened a gate, 
 and who did not, it was decided to mark out by 
 flags what might be considered a real course, 
 leaving the riders to go as close to, or as far 
 from, the line of demarcation, on the right or the 
 left, as they pleased : only stipulating that the 
 money would go to the gentleman who first 
 reached the goal. 
 
 It was admitted on all hands that the fun, 
 the money, and the honour was confined to the 
 riders, or nearly so ; and that if anybody came 
 to grief, nobody saw it. It was a happy time,
 
 124 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 however, of exemption from gate-money and too 
 obtrusive swindling. It remained now for the 
 inhabitants of Waterpark to inaugurate a steeple- 
 chasOj which should combine the dangers of a 
 natural country with the comforts of an artificial 
 spectacle. It was the very beginning of the cut- 
 and-dried Liverpool, Leamington, and Croydon 
 pattern ; and which have themselves become 
 modifications of Market Harborough to suit the 
 capacity of the performers. I am a man of pro- 
 gress ; I believe a two-year-old for five furlongs, 
 with six stone on its back, is the true step to- 
 wards the improvement of the thorough-bred 
 horse for general purposes ; I wear everything but 
 a beard, an all-round collar, and a wide-awake ; 
 I believe in the British artisan ; I adore a chig- 
 non when made of the lady's own hair and made 
 up at a first-rate purveyor's ; but I do not believe 
 in the utility of the modern steeplechase course 
 to give quickness, nerve, or knowledge of coun- 
 try to our horsemen. When w& once enclosed 
 in posts and rails the limits of the course, and 
 sat in judgment over the rotten banks of a brook, 
 and the too stiS" timber of a double post and rails, 
 we reduced one-half or two-thirds the courage, 
 the quickness of observation, the judgment, and 
 the true intelligence of our jockeys. The pace is
 
 THE RACE. 125 
 
 different^ tlie horse is different, and tlie man is 
 different. The man who can ride fast enough 
 and well enough sometimes to win on a beaten 
 course, where he knows the fences and the 
 ground, would have no chance over a country 
 which he has never seen with the men who used 
 to find their way over Leicestershire on Clasher 
 and Clinker. 
 
 ^How^s the horse this morning, Stevens?^ 
 said Harold Falcon on the day of the race, wan- 
 dei'ing out after breakfast towards the box. 
 
 ' Bright as a star, captain. Would you like 
 to see him ? ' and the two went in and found him 
 nibbling a handful of oats that had been thrown 
 in to him. 
 
 The Rover was a large good-looking horse, 
 thorough-bred ; for which, by-the-way, he had to 
 give an allowance of seven pounds to all the half- 
 bred ones in the race — the on as of proving them 
 thorough-bred lying with the opponent, if they 
 were not in the stud-book. He was a dark chest- 
 nut, with one white leg behind. His head and 
 neck were handsome and set on for pulling. 
 Falcon said he gave you a nice feel of the former, 
 some said he carried his rider in his mouth. His 
 shoulders were thick, but well laid back, so as to 
 give his quarters a great appearance of height
 
 126 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 and length.. His tliighs were large, and his hocks 
 fine and clean, but very broad ; and he had plenty 
 of length. He did not look very good-tempered, 
 but, to say that he wanted a little riding, is all 
 that his worst enemies could allege to his dis- 
 advantage. 
 
 ' At three o'clock that afternoon Harold Fal- 
 con took his gallop, preliminary to the steeple- 
 chase on the Waterpark course. He was the 
 beau-ideal of a gentleman-jockey ; which name 
 I use in the absence of a better. His colours 
 were green, with gold belt and black cap ; his 
 neck-cloth was white, his breeches were just 
 sufficiently roomy to give him ease in his seat, 
 and his long straight legs were clothed in tops as 
 white and closely fitting as if they had been made 
 upon the trees. A gentleman on a racecourse in 
 brown tops did not belong to the golden age of 
 steeplechasing. 
 
 ' How do you like the look of him, Cranstone?' 
 said Lord Chesterton. 
 
 ^ I never liked his shoulders : look at th.e mare, 
 bow well she moves ; lie gives seven pounds to 
 her and the Emperor.' But though Lord Cran- 
 stone spoke cheerfully he had a very anxious look. 
 
 ' And he's able to do it,' said Childers : ' look 
 at his shoulders ; besides, he's a thorough-bred
 
 THE EACE. 127 
 
 one, and if they come to difficulties it's a guinea 
 to a shilling on the horse/ 
 
 ^ I can't agree with you ; and as to his 
 shoulders, they're the very point I should com- 
 plain of.' But Lord Cranstone knew nothing of 
 shoulders until he sat upon them, 
 
 ' Why, Carruthers, what's this — this thing in 
 black, coming now ? I thought there were but 
 three going for it ; ' and Lord Cranstone leant 
 down from the drag to speak to his friend. He 
 was pale and nervous, but this new appearance 
 had a cheering effect upon him. 
 
 ^Why, it's the horse they've just made a 
 favourite in the ring at three to one,' replied 
 Carruthers. I don't understand it.' 
 
 ' Who's that on him — isn't it Oliver ? ' asked 
 the other. 
 
 ' Yes. I understand it now; it's Pullaway, with 
 Tom Oliver on him. They said they couldn't run 
 him because P. wouldn't ride him. I see it all 
 now ; they've put up Tom Oliver, and given the 
 seven pounds' allowance. He's not thorough-bred, 
 so he and my horse run at even weights.' Cran- 
 stone's excitement grew painful, as the chances in 
 his favour increased, and Dick Carruthers looked 
 proportionately sulky. The most perfectly un- 
 moved person of the lot was Harold Falcon.
 
 128 LORD falconbeeg's heie. 
 
 They were walking up to take their places — 
 the race beginning and ending at the grand 
 stand. ' Here, Dick/ said Harold. ' I know 
 this horse has a little temper ; I can feel it in him. 
 Have you any orders to give ? ' 
 
 ' Yes ; win my money for me, and don^t kill 
 the horse. ^ And as this was an answer highly 
 characteristic of the owner, Harold determined 
 upon fulfilling it to the letter, if he could. In 
 another minute they were ' Off.' 
 
 Pullaway took the lead, Tom Oliver in his 
 black jacket was over the first fence — a stiff flight 
 of rails well in advance — sitting on his horse and 
 holding him as if in a vice. The other three came 
 on in a ruck, all of them getting safely over the 
 first fences without a mistake. The Emperor 
 appeared a little overpaced ; and Zitella and the 
 Rover went on side by side, ten lengths behind 
 the black jacket. Harold was right about the 
 Rover. He soon found that he liked his own way, 
 which was to the front ; but Pullaway continued 
 his lead at such a pace that Harold doubted 
 the policy of running up to him. He was right. 
 They had been going a mile, when, by deh- 
 cate handling, the horse became more tractable ; 
 and as Harold and he became better acquainted, 
 he ceased to fight, and laid himself out to gallop.
 
 THE EACE. 129 
 
 At the same time Pullaway began to come back 
 to liim, wliile Zitella was pulled back. They were 
 now about a mile from the start, and nothing 
 very formidable had yet presented itself in the 
 way of fencing. 
 
 At this turn of the com'se they began to de- 
 scend, and it was seen that they would be lost to 
 the sight of the crowd on the stand, excepting to 
 those quite on the top of it. By the number of 
 people who had assembled at the next fence, it 
 was evident to Harold that it was a rasper. Tom 
 Oliver too was of the same opinion, as he took a 
 pull at his horse, and allowed the Rover to come 
 within a couple of lengths of him. Zitella and 
 her rider were not equally impressed with so ob- 
 vious an act of prudence, and shooting forward 
 came heavily against a second rail : the advan- 
 tages of pace were made manifest by the manner 
 in which she divided the timber, landing into the 
 plough without further accident than a severe 
 stumble ; Emperor took advantage of the hole she 
 had made for him ; and the Rover and Pullaway, 
 better handled, jumped it handsomely, and went 
 on with the running. 
 
 They were now out of the course, and their 
 line for the next mile and a half was only marked 
 by flags, which were to be kept on the left-hand 
 
 VOL. I. 9
 
 130 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 of eacli. Two consummate horsemen like Oliver 
 and Harold Falcon were not likely to select such 
 ground as the present for racing, and seeing the 
 nature of the next meadows, which were low and 
 marshy, they both rode with additional care. 
 The rider of Zitella, with a laudable anxiety to be 
 first some part of the race, took up the running ; 
 and having the best of the weights, made his 
 way over the water-meadows down to the brook. 
 Here as usual a crowd had assembled, and but 
 that the more formidable piece of water was to be 
 jumped in sight of the stand, probably the popu- 
 lation of Waterpark and its vicinity would have 
 been present to see the fun. 
 
 The first at it was Zitella, a little pumped, she 
 slipped round, and her example was ignominiously 
 followed by the Rover, while Pullaway and the 
 Emperor got safely over. In another minute 
 Harold was again on the same side as his oppo- 
 nent, but twenty lengths behind,' while Zitella 
 had not joined them. The next field was sound 
 grass-land, ascending again into what might be 
 called the course, and about a mile and a half 
 from home. Here Harold made play, taking ad- 
 vantage of his horse's breeding; and upon coming 
 into the course over a bound fence with the ditch 
 from him, he was again within three lengths of
 
 THE RACE. 131 
 
 Pullaway. Tlie Emperor was here disposed of, 
 tliousrh lie continued to fence well throuo^hout. 
 The pace was too good for hira ; and as they 
 came on over the fences, without a mistake, the 
 shouts of ' Pullaway ' reached the ears of the 
 riders from the stand. 
 
 And now the artificial brook was being 
 neared at every stride ; fourteen feet of water, 
 but conveniently made with a low fence bent 
 over it on the taking- oflf side. On they came, 
 Tom Oliver still leading, who landed his horse 
 handsomely, while three lengths behind him the 
 Rover followed suit. Both were still hard held, 
 neither of them yet riding. The intervening 
 fences before the run-in were not difiicult, and 
 Pullaway, with perhaps the best horseman in 
 England, certainly the strongest, on him, con- 
 tinued his lead. Harold felt his horse ; he had 
 still enough in him to run home, if Pullaway 
 could do no more, and it might still be a neck 
 and neck affair. Tom Oliver looked round some- 
 what confidently, when Harold, thinking his time 
 was come, caught his horse by the head, and with 
 a determination which astonished the Rover, be- 
 gan to run up to his opponent. The shouts in- 
 creased, as now at his girths they came along the 
 course, one single flight of hurdles alone remain-
 
 132 LOED falconberg's heir. 
 
 ing. Side by side tliey were jumped^ and as they 
 landedj there still remained the one half-length 
 between them. Already they were opposite the 
 stand_, Pullaway with his head and shoulders still 
 in front^ when, within two lengths of the winning- 
 post, by a rush that would have done credit to 
 Chifney, Harold Falcon let his horse out, and 
 amidst an excitement that had never been seen in 
 Waterpark before, made a ^ dead-heat^ of the 
 race of the meeting. 
 
 The scene that ensued lives in the memory 
 of those who saw it. Of course both parties 
 abused the judge, that understands itself, as the 
 Germans say. The Rovers and the Pullaways 
 both claimed the victory, and both appealed 
 to the stewards. If those august persons do 
 little for the honour that is thrust upon them, 
 they at least serve to decide such a point as 
 the present. The judge^s fiat must be respected; 
 and as neither party was satisfied, it only re- 
 mained to run off the dead-heat at five o'clock 
 the same afternoon. 
 
 Cranstone was flushed and excited, though 
 reassured by the confident assertions that Tom 
 Oliver could not lose on a beaten horse. 
 
 ' ^NllJ didn't Harold come sooner ? ' said one.
 
 THE RACE. 133 
 
 ' Tom Oliver was caught napping for once in 
 his life/ said another. 
 
 Those who knew nothing of the mistake at 
 the water wondered how he ever let Tom Oliver 
 get away from him. Everybody knew better 
 than the riders themselves. 
 
 The Duke of Chessingham thought he had 
 never seen a finer bit of riding, but laid three to 
 two pretty freely after the race against the Eover. 
 Harold took it to a hundred without giving his 
 reasons, which rather encouraged Dick Carruthers 
 and his party. Sir Samuel Corduroy went to 
 look at the horses, and fancied Pullaway had 
 everything taken out of him to do what he had 
 done ; and, said he, ' I think the thorough-bred 
 one will come soonest round.'' 
 
 'Admiral Gorget thought they ought to divide, 
 and — ' 
 
 ' How about bets ? ' 
 
 ' Put them together, and divide — there's no 
 difficulty about that.' 
 
 ' They won't divide now,' said Lord Keswick : 
 ' there's Falcon backing himself; and three to two 
 has put them all on their mettle.' 
 
 The ladies were especially enthusiastic about 
 Harold; and the duchess thought it would serve
 
 134 LOED falconberg's heir. 
 
 tlie duke riglit if lie lost his money. As Harold 
 walked out of tke weigliiug-room, witli a thick 
 pea-jacket over liis colours^ lie met with, a perfect 
 ovation from the crowd. Tom Oliver's face, too^ 
 looked a little anxious_, though he said nothing. 
 He thought it was no odds either way. 
 
 The other races passed off without comment. 
 The people evidently were intent upon the coming 
 contest. It was to come off in two hours^ and 
 there were three races to be decided before that 
 time. Nobody looked at them with their usual 
 anticipation of pleasure ; they were but so many 
 steps to the accomplishment of a much more in- 
 teresting affair. 
 
 At last the Rover and Pullaway came out. 
 You could scarcely have told that they had been 
 out before. There was no preliminary canter, 
 and they were started at once — both inclined to 
 wait. At length Pullaway took the lead by a 
 length, and went on with the running as before. 
 This time there was no refusals, and the only 
 thing to be remarked was that the pace was 
 moderated. When they emerged from the heavy 
 lands once more into sight, they were both being 
 ridden well and judiciously — neither meant to 
 throw a chance away. About a mile from home 
 they began to increase the pace; at the brook
 
 THE RACE. 135 
 
 they were side by side, and both got over cleverly, 
 Pullaway dropping his hind legs a little, when 
 two-thirds of the course were passed. Cranstone 
 wrote a short note, which he sent over to the 
 drag to apologize for going unexpectedly to town. 
 Before it reached its destination Harold Falcon 
 had won a good race by a length — cleverly.
 
 136 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 HOW TO PAY A DEBT OP HONOUR WITHOUT MONEY. 
 
 There could be no doubt tliat when Harold 
 Falcon woke tlie next morning, notwithstanding 
 his natural and acquired indifference to impecuni- 
 osity, he was much more comfortable in his mind 
 than he had been lately. When a man is really 
 living from hand to mouth, with the exception of 
 some bare pittance, a windfall of four thousand 
 pounds is worth a consideration ; and is apt to 
 brighten the horizon of futurity, at least for a 
 time to come. It was so with Harold. Not that 
 he regarded it as possibly many of my readers 
 might have done. To a man reared as a gen- 
 tleman, who really sees himself within one 
 hundred pounds of the workhouse; who knows 
 that another month must take him out of his 
 comfortable home into a sponging-house or a 
 debtor's prison ; that he has on a coat, waistcoat, 
 and trowsers which are to last for ever, or until 
 they be exchanged for a shroud; that has no
 
 DEBT OF HONOUR. 137 
 
 hope in race-horseSj or relatives — such a windfall 
 as four thousand pounds sounds like eternal water 
 in the desert to the dying traveller, the pool of 
 Siloam to the incurable leper. It must not be 
 supposed that this was the case with Harold 
 Falcon, He didn't even look at its prospective 
 advantages, as an end, but only as a means for 
 accomplishing still greater ends. If my friends 
 
 and publishers, Messrs , were to offer me 
 
 such unheard-of remuneration for this or any 
 future efforts — and no man can say what they may 
 do — I should think it my duty to purchase some 
 railway debentures, limited hability discount part- 
 nership, monster hotel shares, or other permanent 
 and secure investment. Such was not Harold^s 
 view of the matter at all. He lay in bed thinking 
 only how he might most profitably invest a certain 
 portion in the coming Derby, arid wondering 
 whether the hints about Mr Eawlinson^s horse 
 and Lord Chesterfield's mare were to be rehed 
 on. He gave a thought to old Jansen, determin- 
 ing that the old money-lender should have his 
 score cleared off as soon as possible ; and rejoiced 
 in thinking that he had done with him, at all 
 events till the next time. Harold knew what it 
 was to win money, occasionally, and more fre- 
 quently to lose it; but four thousand pounds
 
 138 LORD falconbeeg's heir. 
 
 was a haul, which he had not effected lately. 
 
 It was the second day after the steeplechase ; 
 and Falcon was still at the Holt. He came down- 
 stairs with more even than his usual good- 
 humour. On his way down he met with Dick 
 Carruthers, who asked him when he wanted to 
 go. ' I suppose you can stay a day or two longer.' 
 
 ' Yes : I've nothing to do till settling day — 
 let's see, this is Friday.' 
 
 ' Yes. What do you win altogether ? ' 
 
 ' A hundred or two on the Tuesday, a thousand 
 from Spielman, and the difference between seven 
 and four thousand on the steeplechase : the odds 
 I laid you.' 
 
 ' I'm glad of it. It served Cranstone right. 
 I don't know what he lost, but he had two bad 
 days I'm sure. He never would believe the horse 
 could gallop.' 
 
 ' I'm sorry for Cranstone myself,' replied 
 Harold. * He's had the worst luck consecutively 
 I've ever heard of on the turf. I'd rather have 
 won my seven thousand of any other man of my 
 acquaintance. It will cost him ten to get it.' 
 
 ' I hope he will get it, for your sake. Falcon.' 
 
 'So do I, for yours.' Saying which with a 
 careless laugh they walked into the breakfast- 
 room.
 
 DEBT OF HONOUR. 139 
 
 They found tlie greater number of those who 
 had been spending the week at the Holt ah'eady 
 at the table. They were reading the papers of 
 the day before, and the letters which had just 
 come over from Waterpark. ' Any news, Boro- 
 daile ? ' inquired Dick Carruthers. 
 
 'Yes. Mr Hall, the sitting magistrate at 
 Bow-street, has locked up a certain Mr Johnson 
 for thrashing a policeman, and offers it as his 
 opinion that he is a marquis of sporting celebrity 
 much too fond of disturbing the peace of the 
 Haymarket. He declines accepting a fine. 
 Pleasant for Johnson. 
 
 ' Very — he^ll get rid of his connection with the 
 aristocracy as quickly as possible, I should think. 
 But the Haymarket must be a good deal altered if 
 there^s any peace in it to disturb,' said Childers. 
 
 * Who is Johnson, I wonder,' said Carruthers. 
 
 * A quiet man in the fifteenth, who happens 
 to be very like W — d, and has only been in two 
 rows in his life. They fined him very heavily 
 once before for his unfortunate resemblance.' 
 
 ' Here's a man been shot in a duel ; and the 
 principal and seconds are gone to Boulogne.' 
 
 ' Who is he ? ' inquired Sir Harry Trenchard. 
 
 ' It doesn't say. The man who shot him was 
 a linendraper's apprentice.'
 
 140 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 'It's about time gentlemen gave up killing 
 one another then/ said Lord Chesterton^ who 
 opened the door just as the passage was read 
 from the newspaper. 
 
 ' Or themselves/ said Lord Borodaile^ who 
 suddenly dropped the paper into his plate, and 
 fell back in his chair. ' Good God, how horrible ! 
 Poor Cranstone.^ 
 
 The man next to Lord Borodaile picked up 
 the paper, and happening to be less intimately 
 acquainted with him than the former, was able to 
 read a short paragraph from the Times, while the 
 rest of Dick Carruthers' guests heard him with 
 the most painful astonishment. 
 
 The paper announced that Lord Cranstone had 
 posted up to town on Wednesday evening from 
 Waterpark — that he had gone to bed as was sup- 
 posed upon reaching his house in Mayfair ; and 
 that on his non-appearance the following day, his 
 valet had broken open his bed-room door. Lord 
 Cranstone was found sitting in his arm-chair quite 
 dead, and a phial which was still in his hand left 
 no doubt that he had destroyed himself with 
 prussic acid. His betting-book was open by his 
 side, and his undoubted losses were the clue to 
 the motive for the rash act. 
 
 This was the substance of the Times' report.
 
 DEBT OF HONOUE. 141 
 
 and there were at least three or four present who 
 had no reason to doubt its correctness. 
 
 Harold Falcon was a man of considerable self- 
 possession ; but it would have required a stoic 
 indeed to have seen his newly-formed hopes dash- 
 ed to the ground without a pang. He changed 
 colour, but never made a remark, and not a soul 
 looked at him, though some there must have 
 guessed his feelings. In the general exclamations, 
 queries, regrets, doubts (for some were expressed), 
 and surmises, Harold Falcon got up and left the 
 room. It was a curious fact that, notwithstanding 
 his own ruin, for it really was so comparatively, 
 he smiled to himself at the chance remark he had 
 made to Dick Carruthers. As to that worthy, he 
 was quite acute enough to know that his money 
 would be forthcoming somehow or other, and 
 much too selfish to dream of offering accommo- 
 dation, which he guessed must be taken. 
 
 Harold retired to his own room. He sat down 
 and wiped his brow, on which a cold perspiration 
 had broken out. Then he looked in the glass, 
 and was surprised to see that his face had re- 
 covered neither its wonted colour nor serenity. 
 His hands and limbs trembled, at present, and he 
 poured some cold water into his basin and held 
 his hands and face in it for a few minutes. After
 
 142 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 a time lie began to realize tlie facts of his position. 
 He was no better off than before^ and he owed 
 his friend Dick Carruthers four thousand pounds 
 into the bargain. He had no means of getting it ; 
 and he had a very great reluctance to be in Dick's 
 debt. He was one of those sanguine persons who 
 never hesitated to run the risk of repaying five 
 hundred with about sixty per cent.^ out of an in- 
 come of two or three hundred a-year and contin- 
 gencies ; but he shrank from the responsibility of 
 thousands. It really was a heavy obligation for 
 a dependent and very extravagant ex-guardsman. 
 
 Presently he rang the bell. 
 
 ' Send my servant here, and ask Mr Carru- 
 thers to allow me the use of a hack this morning.' 
 And Mr Carruthers' man hurried off. 
 
 ' Now, Pearson, pack my things up, and go 
 into Waterpark this afternoon. Be at the ' Re- 
 gent ' at four o'clock, and take two places by the 
 mail. We shall be in London late, but I can dine 
 at the club, while you get my rooms ready.' 
 
 And Pearson, as invaluable as all poor men's 
 servants are, whether from the hope of better 
 times, or that they are urged by a sort of com- 
 passion to happier exertions, set about his task at 
 once. 
 
 ' Mind that cap and the jacket,' — and it is
 
 DEBT OF HONOUR. 143 
 
 rather remarkable that, while he felt fully im- 
 pressed with the idea that they would not be 
 wanted again, he was the more particular in his 
 directions about them : — ' and just run down and 
 ask Stevens whether they can have a hack for me 
 in a quarter of an hour. If the boy can be at the 
 " Regent ^^ at a quarter before four he shall bring 
 it back, as I shall not return here.' 
 
 From Waterpark to Woodstock is a beautiful 
 ride. A great part of it lies through fine park- 
 like land, covered with magnificent timber, and 
 presenting much variety of country. When 
 Harold started, the first object was to reach Jan- 
 sen^s house in good time ; but as the sun got up, 
 and the light became more dazzling, he pulled 
 his horse into a walk and let him move slowly 
 through the shadow of the trees, which were just 
 beginning to put forth their leaves. To admirers of 
 physical beauty Harold Falcon thus presented a 
 rare picture. 
 
 He was of more than middle height, thin, ac- 
 tive, straight, but broad and flat in the shoulders, 
 and showing limbs of much elegance and symme- 
 try. He had dark hair and dark eyes, a straight 
 line of soft wavy whisker, which shaded a rather 
 pale oval cheek. His nose and mouth were suflS- 
 ciently handsome, and the latter especially was
 
 144 
 
 adorned with a very fine set of teeth. His hair, 
 which on either side appeared from beneath his 
 hat, was dark and wavy. His dress was per- 
 fectly consonant with the fashion of the day. A 
 loose riding coat with broad skirts and metal 
 buttons, of a dark-green mixture, and bound with 
 a black silk braid or binding ; a pair of buckskin 
 trowsers, fastened below his well-polished Wel- 
 lington boots, completed the riding costume of a 
 gentleman of the year 184 — . He sat, when at a 
 foot-pace, well back on his horse ; and his reins, 
 which were held in each hand nearly as far back as 
 his hips, gave every liberty to his horse's head, as 
 he walked along at four good miles in the hour. 
 
 His thoughts were sombre enough. To say 
 they were not of himself and his own fortunes 
 would not be true. No man faces poverty as he 
 was doing without much pain, much anxiety ; but 
 while he thought of himself, he recurred fre- 
 quently to the terrible fate of Lord Cranstone. It 
 seems selfish enough to console yourself by the 
 superior misery of your fellow-creatures, or to 
 contrast favourably your own ills with their 
 heavier misfortunes. But it gives a hopeful tone 
 to a mind depressed to think others have borne, 
 with patience and success, more than we. Yes, 
 with patience — but where was Cranstone now ?
 
 DEBT OF HONOUR. 145 
 
 How long Harold had known liim, all smiles, 
 carelessness, indifference ! the boon companion, 
 never without money to throw away, never with 
 enough to pay his debts : ^^Tiere was he now ? 
 and who could guarantee him against a like fate ? 
 The tears almost came to his eyes as he looked 
 back at what he had been, and forward to what he 
 might be. If he had but money — but for money 
 he never had had a care in his life. How many 
 can echo Harold's sentiment ! God only knows 
 how many he might have had with it. 
 
 Lord Cranstone came of age a comparatively 
 rich man. No pleasure was too extravagant, no 
 luxury inaccessible. He lived in an age of bold 
 rivalry ; and the only means of competition was by 
 gambling. He dissipated every shilling at Crock- 
 ford's and on the turf. The Jews were tired at 
 length of a doubtful sixty per cent., preferring a 
 positive forty ; unable to procure it, and indebted 
 to his friends, who would have saved him, bad as 
 he was, at four times the money, he destroyed 
 himself. This he called honour — amongst other of 
 honour's attributes, it's very short-sighted. 
 
 VOL. I. 10
 
 146 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 WHERE HAROLD GOT THE MONET TO PAY HIS DEBTS 
 OP HONOUR. 
 
 Bernhard Jansen was a man of peculiar man- 
 ners as well as appearance, as tlie reader already 
 knows. His displeasure with his wife and daugh- 
 ter, richly as it was merited, was not consistent, 
 or firm, or judicious in any way. It was capri- 
 cious, violent at times, and gloomy ; and as apt 
 to bestow itself upon the man^s inner self as upon 
 the offending persons. 
 
 When Harold Falcon presented himself at the 
 house, Jansen was brooding gloomily over the 
 disgrace, which his instinct told him would fall 
 sooner or later upon his name. Had Harold had 
 to select a time for his business, he would not 
 have chosen this above all others, but he had no 
 choice ; time was pressing, and his name wanted 
 saving as well as Jansen^ s. 
 
 Having given his hack to a boy in the old
 
 HOW HAROLD PAYS DEBTS OF HONOUR. 147 
 
 stable-yard^ and bid him put a clotli over his loins, 
 which he did by use of a couple of meal sacks, he 
 walked unannounced into the presence of Mrs 
 Jansen. That lady was wholly unprepared for 
 the visit, as might have been seen by her dress 
 and occupation. She was assisting her domestic 
 servant in the preparation of Herr Jansen's din- 
 ner, with her sleeves tucked up above the elbows, 
 to give the freer use to her arm in wielding a roll- 
 ing pin. A large apron, which came over her 
 shoulders and chest, and descended to her feet, 
 covered a dilapidated black silk dress. 
 
 Harold saw that he had made a mistake in 
 his route, and drew back at the door. ' Mr Jan- 
 sen I was looking for — finding no servant and — ' 
 
 Mrs Jansen^s sleeves were already down ; but 
 all her usual alacrity was gone. She was meek, 
 humble, depressed, for this once, and only said, 
 
 ' Captain Falcon, Mr Jansen is in his room : ' 
 and thither he followed. For the first time in 
 his life he saw traces of tears on the lady's face. 
 
 Jansen was hard at work — he had before him 
 a fine piece of carving in design from part of the 
 cathedral at Seville. He was attempting to copy 
 its most difl&cult and remarkable details. Exces- 
 sive difficulties soothe, if they do not calm, mental 
 agitation. Jansen found it so now. He had had
 
 148 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 a violent paroxysm that day ; lie had converted 
 it into gloom. 
 
 ' HallO;, Jansen/ said Harold, ushered into 
 the room by the wife, who however shut the door 
 on him at once. ' Hard at work ; ' and then he 
 took up a piece of very handsome carving, and 
 began to expatiate on its beauties. For Harold 
 ■ could take high art of various kinds, and was not 
 utterly ignorant of it. Many men were not 
 ashamed of refinement thirty years ago ; and it 
 put Jansen usually in good humour. It wanted 
 something more than hiffh art now. 
 
 It was quite clear that Harold could not 
 plunge at once into his necessities, which are not 
 like a pair of good trowsers, but must be handled 
 gently and tenderly, as having had many a patch, 
 and in places utterly threadbare ; amenable to 
 the heel of a boot, or highly susceptible of tight 
 straps and unprepared movements. 
 
 ' That^s a beautiful piece of work, Jansen, 
 you're employed on now.' The artist looked up, 
 but didn't reply. ' Your countrymen excel in it.' 
 
 ' Do you think so. Captain Falcon ? Gibbons 
 was an Englishman. He did much in Chats- 
 worth and Windsor. I knew nothing finer than 
 the room at Petworth.' 
 
 ' Gibbons was of Dutch extraction^ Jansen,
 
 HOW HAROLD PAYS DEBTS OF HONOUR. 149 
 
 like yourself. Have you seen tlie foliage and 
 flowers in tlie Chapel of Trinity, Oxford ?' The 
 mention rather jarred upon the old man, and he 
 replied, 
 
 ' I never go out. I've scarcely crossed the 
 garden five times in the last ten years ; and don't 
 care if I never do again.' 
 
 'It's worth seeing, nevertheless,' said Harold, 
 quite ignorant of the cause of his ill-humour. 
 
 ' But you didn't come here to tell me that. 
 If it's money, I don't see how I can help you.' 
 And here Herr Jansen began again at his work. 
 
 ' You've never failed me yet, Jansen ; but this 
 is a heavier business. Somebody must help me, 
 or I'm ruined.' And the tone of Harold's voice 
 sounded so sadly and despondingly as he pro- 
 nounced the last word, that Jansen looked up at 
 him, and was surprised to see how unlike himself 
 the Captain was. 
 
 ' Euined ! I've never seen one of you gentlemen 
 that wasn't ruined at one time or another. You 
 never come here till you are. There are plenty 
 would like to be ruined in the same way. Shall I 
 tell you what ruin means. Captain Falcon ? — three 
 months' inconvenience, perhaps a renewal, a year 
 or two in Paris or the north of Italy, and then 
 the repentant prodigal, or the long-expected
 
 150 LORD falconbeeg's heir. 
 
 legacy. IsnH it so ?' And Jansen continued liis 
 work. 
 
 ' Not witli me. Did you ever hear of Lord 
 Cranstone ? ' 
 
 ' And of liis deatli. He owes me a couple of 
 hundred.^ 
 
 ' And me — seven thousand. It's all I had.' 
 The old workman looked up. 
 
 ' And now you're a beggar do you say ? You're 
 only where you were before?' 
 
 ' Worse ; I laid off four thousand of it/ replied 
 Harold Falcon. 
 
 '' And how much do you want ? Won't your 
 creditor wait ? ' 
 
 ' I don't intend to ask him.' 
 
 ' You must.' 
 
 ' I'd rather follow Cranstone's example ! ' And 
 perhaps for the moment so bitter was Harold's 
 feeling of debasement that he half meant what he 
 said, 
 
 ' No, you mustn't do that. Go abroad.' 
 
 ' What, run away ? that's as bad. Will you 
 clear my book at Tattersall's, and give me a thou- 
 sand to go with ? ' And Harold spoke with a 
 mocking tone, as if the thing was quite out of 
 the question. 
 
 ' What security have you to offer?'
 
 now HAROLD PAYS DEBTS OF HONOUR. 151 
 
 ' Nothing — not even a father's death to specu- 
 late upon. There's a good old lady, Mrs Falcon, 
 my father's aunt, who might leave me twenty 
 thousand — who will do so when she dies.' 
 
 'Nobody lends thousands on old women's 
 fancies. They're very capricious.' 
 
 'Well, I've nothing else, Jansen, I've told 
 you, but my allowance ; at present it pays my 
 cabs and my tailor. Henceforth, I must live on 
 it.' 
 
 ' Can't you get me a joint name, a good name.' 
 
 'What! for four thousand or thereabouts — 
 par exemple, very likely. Besides, why should I 
 rob my friend ? ' 
 
 ' Drowning men catch at straws.' 
 
 ' Eight enough, but then they do the straws 
 no mischief.' 
 
 ' Do you see no plank ? ' 
 
 ' None that would save me ; plenty that I 
 could swamp, if they would swim with me.' 
 
 ' Would you insure your life for four thou- 
 sand. Captain Falcon?' 
 
 ' You're afraid of me, then ? ' 
 
 ' No, I'm not afraid of you ; but would you do 
 it?' 
 
 ' I would, and pay the premium as long as I 
 could.'
 
 152 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 ' And what would you do witli four thousand 
 pounds V 
 
 ' Fd pay up on Monday, and go abroad with, 
 the remainder. But I don't see what that matters 
 to you unless you mean to lend it/ 
 
 ' You would go abroad ? ' 
 
 ' I would do anything to escape from this 
 position. Will you help me ? As I am in your 
 debt, I am bound to listen to your advice, even 
 if I do not take it.' For with all his careless good- 
 humour, Harold had reached a point whence he 
 could see nothing but misery. Anything but ap- 
 plication to his uncle, who had already done so 
 much for them. 
 
 Jansen hesitated a moment, and then, weigh- 
 ing his words well, said, 
 
 ' You would do anything ? marriage ? ' 
 
 ' For money? be it so : a wrinkled old woman, 
 or a hideous young one t' 
 
 ' Neither. A few thousands, it is true ; beauty 
 wonderful, youth, accomplishments. Your family 
 (have you one ? I think not,) objects. Go from 
 the church-door abroad ; and when the good old 
 aunt is gone, the world will worship you and your 
 wife, as long as the twenty thousand lasts/ 
 
 In all his disappointment, Harold Falcon 
 could not help laughing at this curious proposal
 
 HOW HAROLD PATS DEBTS OF HONOUR. 153 
 
 SO quaintly made. So lie said in reply^ ' and 
 wlio^s tlie lady ?' 
 
 ' Come and let us look for her/ said Jansen. 
 And as the giant rose from his seat with a grave 
 and mysterious look^ Harold Falcon felt himself 
 compelled to follow this Dutch Mephistopheles ; 
 which he did with a mind more ill at ease than 
 ever. 
 
 A quarter of an hour or thereabouts had 
 elapsed^ when Harold Falcon opened the door of 
 the farm-house and passed out. He was followed 
 by Bernhard Jansen. Neither spoke, and the 
 former strode on towards the stables. He was 
 deadly pale ; his features worked with suppressed 
 emotions, the most marked of which was the de- 
 termination which kept the whole in subjection. 
 His hat was drawn closely over his eyes ; and 
 in passing the windows of the house he kept them 
 firmly fixed upon the ground. The boy who had 
 before thrown the sacks over his horse^s loins 
 led him out, and having brushed out the wisps 
 of hay which clung to his mane held the stirrup 
 for the Captain to mount. 
 
 ' You^ll not forget the arrangement. Captain 
 Falcon?' said Jansen, speaking for the first time, 
 and with more respect in his manner than usual. 
 
 ' The bargain, you mean, Jansen ; call it by
 
 154 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 its riglit name ; ' with wliicli unpromising speecli 
 Harold rode slowly out of tlie yard^ and across 
 the pleasauncOj or dismantled park, in which the 
 artistes house stood. 
 
 It was not the road, nor even quite the di- 
 rection, in which he wished to go ; but his horse 
 took the grass by preference (a very unusual 
 thing with horses) and wandered on, the reins 
 lying idly on his neck, and the rider^s thoughts 
 travelling anywhere but on his way. 
 
 He crossed the park diagonally, and so ab- 
 sorbed was Harold in his own thoughts, that, 
 until his horse stood still at a stone wall in the 
 corner, by which there was no egress, he had not 
 discovered his mistake. Being thus brought up 
 by a regular Oxfordshire wall, of at least four 
 feet high, his first impression was bewilderment 
 as to how he got there ; the second a perception 
 that he could not reach his destination without 
 getting out or going round. At any other time, 
 fine horseman though he was, he would certainly 
 have preferred the latter course, as he was not a 
 man to risk his own neck or his friend's hack by 
 hazardous larking. On the contrary now : having 
 collected himself sufficiently to perceive that the 
 road to Waterpark would be hit by a cross-coun- 
 try ride to' the right, and not feeling by any
 
 HOW HAROLD PAYS DEBTS OF HONOUR. 155 
 
 means disposed to return by tlie yard tlirougli 
 wMch lie had come, lie drew back his horse about 
 forty or fifty yards, and gathered him together 
 with a hghthand but determined grip. He rode 
 him slowly at the wall, the first thirty yards at a 
 trot from which he broke into a slow canter ; but 
 the hack refused, and turned away to the right. 
 As the wall was too high to jump at a stand he 
 was obliged to let him come round. Then he 
 compressed his lips, and the second attempt 
 was successful. Increasing his pace a httle, and 
 bringing his horse so steadily up to it as to give 
 him no room to turn, he found himself obliged to 
 jump, and the two landed safely on the other side. 
 Then Harold^s blood began to stir within him, 
 and crossing the next pasture and jumping the 
 fence, holding his horse in a fair hand-gallop from 
 field to field, and getting safely over the obsta- 
 cles as they presented themselves, he struck the 
 road to Watei'park over a stiflfly-bouud fence with 
 the ditch beyond, in his stride. As he landed 
 safely and pulled up, his colour had returned, and 
 he patted the hack approvingly. His gloom was 
 partly gone, and his mind made up for action. 
 ' I made my bed ; I must lie on it. It's a hard 
 one, but it might have been worse, or such as 
 Cranstone's. Til not turn back now. Besides,
 
 156 LOED falconberg's heir. 
 
 it's tlie only loopliole. Come up/ Sucli was 
 tte effect of his ride. 
 
 At a quarter before four lie rode into Water- 
 park, and alighting at the 'Regent/ he threw his 
 rein to the boy who had been sent from the Holt 
 for the hack, and sauntered into the hotel. 
 
 ' The coach would be through in ten minutes' 
 time/ said the landlady, ' and she knew Captain 
 Falcon's servant had booked two places. Captain 
 Falcon was not looking well; would he take any- 
 thing ? ' Captain Falcon ordered a pint of sherry 
 and sat down in the coffee-room. 
 
 * Waiter.' The waiter said, ' yessir,' all in 
 one word, as waiters will, and continued giving 
 change to another waiter at the farther end of the 
 room. Having finished his own business, he 
 slipped a napkin under his arm and asked Harold 
 what he pleased to want. 
 
 ' Is the mail always punctual ? ' 
 
 ' Very, sir, very. Leastways I bin here five- 
 and-twenty year, and I never knowed it late but 
 once, that was in a snowdrift.' 
 
 Havinof re-assured himself he rose from his 
 
 O 
 
 table, and paced the coffee-room ; every two or 
 three minutes he looked out of the window. 
 
 His impatience was remarkable, and the delay
 
 HOW HAROLD PAYS DEBTS OF HONOUR. 157 
 
 intolerable. But the coach was pretty punctual not- 
 withstanding ; and having taken only two minutes 
 and a half to change horses_, and put Harold's 
 luggage into the boot^ he got up in front and his 
 servant behind, and they started for London with 
 fifty miles to be done by nine o'clock. With the 
 team they drove thex-e was not much doubt about 
 their doing it. 
 
 When Harold Falcon had made himself com- 
 fortable he turned suddenly round and encountered 
 the face of an acquaintance, nothing more. He 
 had met him at Oxford once or twice, and lately 
 dined with him at the Holt. It was Beauchamp, 
 
 They exchanged greetings, and began a pro- 
 mising conversation, which developed itself by 
 degrees from the weather, racing, bribery. Mac- 
 adam, field-preaching, and such general topics to 
 something domestic or social. 
 
 ' Have you seen my cousin George, lately ? ' 
 inquired Falcon. 
 
 *No, I haven't,' said the other with a very 
 startled and puzzled look, a look which seemed 
 to say, ' that's a very curious question to have 
 asked.' ' No, I haven't.' 
 
 ' Do you know where he is ? ' said the other 
 very innocently, but looking equally astonished
 
 158 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 at his neiglibour ; and wondering wliy lie should 
 hesitate^ as lie appeared to do, to answer a simple 
 question. 
 
 ' WTiere he is ?' repeated Beauchamp, as if 
 pausing and weighing the words before he return- 
 ed answer, ' what, don^t you know — ' 
 
 ' Of course I don't,^ replied Falcon, who was 
 somewhat impatient at getting no direct answer. 
 ' Of course I don^t — that's why I asked you.' 
 
 *■ Don't you know what they say ? I was going 
 to ask you.' 
 
 ' I can't say that I do ; but if you'll tell me I 
 shall be much obliged.' 
 
 '■ Well, they do say — mind I don't myself 
 know that it is so ; but they do say that he's gone 
 off with Jansen's daughter, and that your uncle 
 is furious, as of course he naturally would be.' 
 
 ' I know that he isn't gone off with Jansen's 
 daughter, and of course my uncle is not so furious 
 as he might be. Just give me a light — thanks.' 
 And from that time, till they reached London, 
 when it was dark and cold. Falcon did not say 
 much more.
 
 159 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 HAROLD S OTHER COUSIN. 
 
 Op course in those days there was no such 
 thing as a Saturday half-holiday. It would na- 
 turally have been asked for what clerks and ap- 
 prentices were meant. The notion of saving a 
 material which did not really belong to the em- 
 ployer, which, like all machinery, was meant to 
 be worn out, and which in the increase of popu- 
 lation was sure to be renewed, never entered the 
 philanthropist's head. The consequence of this 
 was that there was no difficulty in transacting 
 business on the last day of the week any more 
 than on the first, among the Jews. 
 
 In pursuance, therefore, of his plans, Harold 
 Falcon walked down St Jameses-street, and 
 crossing over Pall-mall next door to what was 
 afterwards the Guard's Club, walked into Ham- 
 mersley's, and presented a cheque. 
 
 It was for a large amount, and the clerk to
 
 160 LOED falconberg's heir. 
 
 whom it was presented, after a few minutes' ab- 
 sence and consultation with, the senior of his de- 
 partment, disappeared into a room at the back of 
 the bank. 
 
 ' Would you be good enough to look at that/ 
 said the man to the junior partner, who was 
 sitting at a desk, running through figures with a 
 most alarming alacrity. This extreme facility 
 was a remarkable gift of one gentleman in that 
 calling, and had acquired for him the name of 
 Three-fingered Jack, from the manner in which 
 at one time he allowed his fingers to run down 
 the three columns of pounds, shillings, and 
 pence, invariably finishing with a correct calcula- 
 tion. 
 
 'It's a large sum,' said the man in authority, 
 looking up from his own calculations, and taking 
 the document in his hand. ^ Who presents it ? * 
 
 ' Captain Falcon, I believe, sir, himself.' 
 
 ''What, the Captain Falcon of the Guards. 
 Lord Falconberg's nephew ? ' 
 
 ' I think it is, sir.' 
 
 ' Ask him to do me the favour to walk in,' and 
 Harold entered. 
 
 ^ Captain Falcon, will you take a chair for 
 one moment,' which he did, and the junior partner 
 rapidly finished his column and tui'ned round.
 
 Harold's other cousin. 161 
 
 ' You want this money immediately — to-day ? ' 
 inquired the banker. 
 
 ' Immediately^ if possible/ replied Harold. 
 
 ^Will you forgive an impertinence from an 
 old acquaintance of your uncle. Do you know 
 the drawer of this cheque ? ' 
 
 ^ I do : and am much indebted to him.' 
 
 ' Be less so, as soon as you can. We have 
 not so much in our hands of his by a few hun- 
 dreds, but may receive notice by the evening 
 post, if not, on Monday.' Harold looked a little 
 blank at this intelligence. ' However, if you 
 really want it this morning, we will cash this 
 cheque on your own undertaking.' The man who 
 spoke was a very handsome man, with large 
 flashing dark eyes, a look of great and fearless 
 honesty, and massive but fine features. He 
 looked like a man in whom any one might confide. 
 Harold felt half-inclined to do so, but recollected 
 himself and said, ' I want to go abroad to-mor- 
 row, for some time, and I will give any necessary 
 security that I can/ very much wondering what 
 that might be. 
 
 ' Then sign that, if you please. Mr Johnson, 
 be good enough to cash that cheque for Captain 
 Falcon.' 
 
 He did so, and Harold Falcon left Pall- 
 
 VOL. I. 11
 
 162 
 
 mall with a heavier pocket and lighter heart. 
 
 It was mid-day, and the streets were not full. 
 A few late treasury and foreign-office clerks were 
 on their way down Bond-street to their offices, 
 having scarcely rid their eyes of the dust and 
 champagne of Willis's rooms, or the then fashion- 
 able amusements of driving hackney coaches or 
 wrenching off door-knockers. At present, how- 
 ever, it was early in the season, and full swing 
 was not yet given to these entertainments. 
 Vauxhall was not yet open, and the happy at- 
 tractions of monster balloons, which swelled the 
 attendance at that arrack-smelling, oil-bespattered 
 tea-garden, had to come. It was not till later in 
 the season that twenty thousand people assembled 
 to see a man go up accompanied by his parachute, 
 to descend through two miles of atmosphere on 
 his head, or to witness the pyrotechnic displays 
 which set the gardens on fire and very nearly 
 involved the Thames itself in the conflagration. 
 So as Harold made his way up Bond- street, he 
 did not meet so many of his friends as he might 
 have done later in the day. Those whom he did 
 meet were full of one subject ; and that was their 
 own. 
 
 ' Hallo, Falcon/ said Marcus Crane, who was 
 pulled up by a butcher's cart as he attempted to
 
 Harold's other cousin. 163 
 
 cross Bruton-street^ and which, a free and en- 
 lightened British public allows to scatter its mud 
 and its murders at the rate of sixteen miles an 
 hour, — ^how are you. Isn't this an awful busi- 
 ness ? ' 
 
 ' Awful ! ' said Harold, who had but one subject 
 of meditation. 
 
 ' AVhy, if Lord John brings in this bill (they 
 talk of only an eight pound franchise), we are 
 utterly swamped in the counties ; and some day 
 or other, you mark my words, every fellow will 
 be able to read and write, and labourers' wages 
 will be at fourteen shillings a-week !^ 
 
 ' Good-bye/ said Harold hurrying on. 
 
 ' I say, Harold, this is a precious affair, isn't 
 it?' — this address came from a brother-officer, 
 Charley Greystoke, who, having an interest in the 
 turf, must have heard of Cranstone's death. 'The 
 Duke is out of his mind.' 
 
 ' What ! his uncle — you don't say so ?' 
 
 ' Egad ! I do though. He talks of a compe- 
 tition examination for the army — and there's my 
 young brother Reginald has been at Harrow this 
 seven years. Never been anywhere else. How 
 the d — 1 is he to know how to write and spell 
 and all that sort of thing, you know ?' 
 
 This was something like a complaint ; but
 
 164 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 Harold liad tlie bad taste to wring- his friend's 
 hand and pass on. Between that corner and 
 Grosven or- square he met three or four more. 
 Two congratulated him on his success with the 
 Kover. One was in love with a new woman who 
 had appeared in a velvet habit and on a chestnut 
 horse somewhere^ and who proved to be Caroline ; 
 and a fourth offered him some members' tickets 
 for the Zoological Gardens for Ho-morrow. I was 
 there last Sunday and there was nobody in town.' 
 Harold declined them rather bitterly and Walked 
 on. 
 
 He knocked at a door of a house in Grosvenor- 
 square. 
 
 ^ Is Lord Hawkestone at home ?' 
 
 The man hesitated. 
 
 ' Yes, sir, he is at home ; but not very well. I 
 dare say he will see you, sir, though he was not 
 to be disturbed.' 
 
 ' Then ask his lordship's man. Wrench ; and 
 if not I'll call again in the afternoon.' 
 
 ' His lordship will see you, sir/ saj^s Mr 
 Wrench, coming down-stairs. ' The family is not 
 in town, and my lord was breakfasting in his own 
 room. Would you walk up, sir,' and Harold as- 
 cended to the first floor and knocked at the door 
 of the room at the back.
 
 Harold's other cousin. 165 
 
 ' Haroldj I'm deliglited to see you ;' and Lord 
 Hawkestone welcoaied liis cousin very warmly. 
 
 ' Your man seems to have more discretion 
 tlian most people^ Hawkestone. He told me you 
 were not very wellj but would perhaps see me/ 
 
 ' Then I have to be grateful to him for speak- 
 ing the truth — and now I do see you, you don't 
 look well. What's the matter, Harold ? ' 
 
 ' I might ask the same of you, if I were dis- 
 posed to be curious/ said the other. 
 
 ' Not much amiss. I caught cold on guard, 
 and to tell you the truth I was rather upset by 
 poor Cranstone's death. You know we were at 
 Eton together, and though I had no great sym- 
 pathy for his pursuits, still you can't see a fine 
 fellow, one of the best of the order ten years ago, 
 wrecked body and mind at his time of life with- 
 out some regret ; ' and as Lord Hawkestone spoke, 
 his handsome light blue eyes and open honest 
 face showed how good and sincere was his nature. 
 There was a character and intelligence in his 
 features so. noble, so spiritual, that he never lost 
 by comparison with his cousin Harold in physical 
 beauty ; although the latter attracted more by 
 the lightness of his spirit, and the insouciant care- 
 lessness of his disposition. 
 
 They then talked about ordinary matters con-
 
 166 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 nected witli Lord Cranstone's deaths and tlie 
 circumstances which led to it. Lord Hawkestone 
 spoke seriously enough on the subject; he was 
 not a man to regard such a lesson lightly ; and he 
 knew well the growing spirit of gambling which 
 clogged the best energies of many a man of his 
 acquaintance_, and which was wrecking noble 
 hopes and aspirations for many an one. His own 
 regiment was not free from the taint, as he knew ; 
 and he had striven to check it among the young- 
 sters. He mourned silently over Harold's defec- 
 tion. He was certainly ignorant of the extent to 
 which he had gone ; but it was impossible to live 
 in town on such intimate terms with him, even since 
 he had left the army, without knowing how reck- 
 less and debased in his real nature he had become. 
 He was the more alive to it because he loved 
 Harold ; he knew his father's liking for him, 
 though he was not demonstrative ; and he half 
 suspected a tenderer feeling on the part of his 
 sister Lady Helen. He was old enough to exer- 
 cise some influence over him too; but not so 
 much older than he as to take him to task, or to 
 interfere in the arrangement of his affairs. 
 
 Again, though his nature and his heart had 
 hardened and degenerated by that constant friction 
 with absence of high and honourable motives.
 
 Harold's other cousin. 167 
 
 and by association witli idle selfisliness and self- 
 gratification, Harold was still essentially a gen- 
 tleman. No one could take a liberty with 
 him. He was as honourable on the race-course 
 as in the drawing-room. With all his debts 
 and responsibilities, he had never been known 
 to fail in his obligations ; and money-lenders 
 and bill-discounters, who are not unlike the 
 devil in one thing, that they are not even as 
 bad as they are painted, not only praised the cap- 
 tain, but were generally willing to accommodate 
 him within reasonable limits. His present ne- 
 cessities were out of all reasonable limits, and but 
 for the ready and mysterious aid affoi^ded by the 
 ex-professional Jansen, he could no longer have 
 shown amongst his equals, and must have lived 
 henceforth exiled and proscribed. And all be- 
 cause Cranstone has paid his debts of honour with 
 prussic acid. 
 
 Now he was going to pay his debts, and then 
 he would go into exile. 
 
 ' Fred, Fm come to ask you to do me a favour.' 
 
 ' I will if I can. Is it to give you room here ? 
 My father and Helen don't come up till the week 
 after next. We shall have the house to our- 
 selves.' 
 
 * No, no ; nothing so pleasant;' and Harold
 
 168 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 looked serious. ' Are you likely to go to Tatter- 
 salFs on Monday ? ' 
 
 ' Certainly not, Harold/ and Lord Hawkestone 
 laughed at tlie notion quietly ; ' but if you want 
 me to do so for you I will.-' 
 
 ' I came to you, Fred, because I cannot trust 
 any one so well as you to do tbe commission with- 
 out talking about it ; and you'll laugli, perhaps, 
 but I am especially anxious that your father should 
 not know it. If he must know my last escapade 
 I should prefer it to come from you. I should 
 have some mercy dealt out to me; at least by 
 you and Helen.' 
 
 ^Harold, are you sure you know your best 
 friends, even in your scrapes ? but come, what is 
 it — what can I do ? ' 
 
 ' Will you take charge of that,' — ^here Harold 
 counted out just four thousand pounds, — ' and pay 
 it over to Captain Childers for Dick Carruthers ? 
 He's not coming himself, and Childers settles the 
 half-dozen bets he has.' 
 
 * Do you mean, Harold, that you lost four 
 thousand to Carruthers ? ' 
 
 ' I am afraid I did.' 
 
 ^ And am I not to receive anything for you ? ' 
 
 ' Nothing ! ' and as Harold Falcon thought of 
 the cause he looked down.
 
 Harold's other cousin. 169 
 
 ' This must liave caused you great incon- 
 venience, Harold, or will do so. Why didn't you 
 come to me, old fellow ? ' 
 
 ' You couldn't have helped me, Fred ! and I 
 cannot trespass on you any further than I do 
 now/ 
 
 ' Are we not cousins, Harold ? ' 
 
 ' We might be brothers, for all your father 
 has done for us.' 
 
 ' I wish we were, Harold. Wasn't poor Cran- 
 stone one of your party at the Holt ? ' 
 
 ' He was.' 
 
 ' They say he lost twelve thousand at the 
 Waterpark meeting ; seven on the steeplechase. 
 Is it true ? and if so, Harold, to whom ? ' 
 
 Harold was silent for a second, and said, 
 ' To me, Fred. When I heard of the business I 
 knew it must be true, and I felt as if I'd the poor 
 fellow's blood upon my head. If he only had 
 known how willingly I would have cancelled it. 
 But, Hawkestone, take the money, that's a good 
 fellow. Do me the last favour you can, for I 
 leave England to-morrow. I'm not given to 
 much sentiment, as you know ; but this thing, 
 what with the loss and what with its result, has 
 been too much for me.' 
 
 Then Lord Hawkestone took the money, and
 
 170 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 put it in his pocket-book ; and then he stood up 
 in front of his cousin Harold (he was rather the 
 taller of the two) and took both of his hands in 
 his. The contrast was very extraordinary, but 
 very beautiful. Harold was dark and younger 
 looking, and now appeared sad and humbled; 
 not looking his cousin in the face. Hawkestone 
 was fair, and bright, and open, but with a severe 
 and earnest expression. 
 
 ' Vva. glad you came to me, Harold. FU do 
 your bidding, and you shall go abroad to-morrow, 
 if you will. Now look at me, old fellow. If my 
 father hears of this he will be grieved. He has 
 been a kind friend to you, Harold, and will be 
 again. Is there no return you can make him — 
 nothing you can do for him and for us. Give up 
 this life. You have left the Guards ; I'm sorry 
 for it. The service lost a good officer. But let 
 us see if we cannot do something. The Ministry 
 owe us no little ; and though we are slow at 
 claiming it, they would scarcely resist the claim 
 when made. I know if I have your word I shall 
 be safe.^ 
 
 ' You have my word, Fred. When you see 
 me again it shall not be as a professional gambler, 
 ril see what can be done. At present I'm going 
 a way ; and by the time I return,' and Harold
 
 Harold's other cousin. 171 
 
 could not help smiling at his prophetic humour, 
 ' you'll see that the turf will not be fit for a gen- 
 tleman, and that he'd better be under than on 
 it.' 
 
 ' You're right, Harold. As a pleasure it has 
 been the pursuit of gentlemen in mind and heart. 
 There •were plenty such when my father was 
 young ; and the names associated with it show it 
 abundantly : but it was never their occupation. 
 When a man begins to hve by the turf he must 
 resort to the measures of those who live with 
 him. He must run false trials, stop horses, get 
 them and keep them in the betting, for unworthy 
 motives ; he must suborn touts, trainers, jockeys ; 
 he must endeavour to delude everybody, and will 
 end by deluding himself; and thirty years hence 
 he will do so. God bless you, Harold. Let's 
 know where to direct to ; and when I can help 
 you, don't think of me as a cousin but as a 
 friend.' 
 
 Harold walked down- stairs, and his hat was 
 low down on his eyes when he passed out into 
 the street.
 
 172 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 ECONOMY. 
 
 Fkau Jansen had done with intriguing ; and 
 Peggy Jansen^ who was home again, submitted 
 in a half-sulky, half-frightened silence to the dic- 
 tates of her father. In other words, she was 
 confined to her room, where the poor gu'l wept in 
 silence, and prayed for some deliverance from the 
 capricious humours of an injudicious scold and 
 the furious violence of an obstinate madman. It 
 is not too much to say that Bernhard Jansen was 
 really, or chose to appear, partially and fitfully 
 insane. 
 
 It had never been impossible hitherto to 
 evade these fits of ill-temper or violence by avoid- 
 ance, or by superior malice, which was invariably 
 assumed by Frau Jansen ; a sharp and shrill 
 temper and voice dividing, and disposing of, the 
 more substantial threats and bellowings of her 
 larger-half, as a sharp rock or breakwater divides 
 a tempestuous sea. Now, this remedy eompletely
 
 ECONOMY. ] 73 
 
 failed. Neitlier was lie communicative^ nor cared 
 more for Mrs Jansen's sarcasms^ or temptations to 
 talkj than lie did for liis daugliter\s tears. No- 
 thing had disturbed this social suspense at the 
 old farm but the arrival and departure of Harold 
 Falcon. From the time of hi? visit^ as we have 
 seen it to take place, things had gone on better. 
 Jansen had improved by becoming perfectly 
 quiet, but invincibly obstinate. The frau was 
 cheerful, but preferred to appear only resigned. 
 The girFs virtue consisted in a forced hypocrisy, 
 which was, however, confined to her own cham- 
 ber, as heretofore. 
 
 ' Margaret, you are prepared to go with me 
 to-morrow ? ' said Bernhard Jansen on the day 
 and about the time that Harold Falcon was going 
 about London to see friends and provide for his 
 journey on the morrow. He did this after his 
 visit to Lord Hawkestone. 
 
 'Yes, father,' said the girl, dropping her 
 hand listlessly, with her work, into her lap. ' Am 
 I ffoinj? for lonor ? ' 
 
 ' That's impossible for me to tell. Take what 
 luggage you think most needful for immediate 
 use. The best of your wardrobe ; what trinkets 
 you have ; books that you care about — nothing 
 more. We start from Oxford to-morrow morn-
 
 174 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 ing, and in tlie evening sliall be on board the 
 boat/ 
 
 ' And you bave made up your mind — / re- 
 joined tbe girl. 
 
 ' Thoroughly. No more, Margaret ; remem- 
 ber your promise, the prize, and our word.' 
 With which Jansen, profoundly grave, left his 
 daughter's room. 
 
 It was a curious coincidence, at all events, 
 that old Jansen and his daughter left England 
 on the very day that we must lose sight of Harold 
 Falcon for a time. One of the most comfortable 
 assurances that can be held out to men of the 
 world, that is, of Harold Falcon's world, is the ra- 
 pidity with which they and their affairs pass out 
 of mind. We all of us trouble ourselves a great 
 deal too much about what is thought of us, or 
 will be thought of us, by those with whom we 
 daily associate. We need be under little apjDre- 
 hension, when we are once gone, that it will re- 
 quire more than a given number of days to be for- 
 gotten. And that number is but small. Those 
 to whom we owe money will probably remem- 
 ber us with some bitterness for a time ; but un- 
 less we have been superlatively good or superla- 
 tively bad, the place we have occupied in the 
 world's opinion will soon be filled up by other ob-
 
 ECONOMY. 175 
 
 jects — worthier because they are more tangible. 
 
 Harold Falcon, like all young men, judged 
 that liis absence would create some speculation, 
 and it did. But when tliey had talked him over 
 at TattersalFs, at the clubs in which he was known, 
 at Lady Mary Watt Knott^s — whose good-looking 
 daughter had a lively recollection of Harold in. 
 Eotten Row, — and at a house or two where he had 
 made himself more than commonly agreeable, 
 they let him go quietly down the stream ; and by 
 the end of about three weeks, he might as well 
 have never existed. He had paid his debts like 
 a gentleman (as far as they knew), and that was 
 more than could be said for everybody that dis- 
 appeared from the surface of society. 
 
 ' What's become of Harold Falcon, Jonas ? ' — 
 Jonas being the nickname of a light-cavalry man 
 about town of a very practical turn. 
 
 ' Why ? does he owe you any money ? ' says 
 Jonas. 
 
 ' No, not a farthing; but I've not seen him 
 about this season.' 
 
 'Where's that tall good-looking cousin of 
 yours, Hawkestone, that used to ride ? ' 
 
 ' He's abroad at present,' says my lord to 
 Harold's friend, Greystone. 
 
 ' What took him there at this time of year ? '
 
 176 LORD FALCONE erg's HEIR. 
 
 ' Nothing took him there ; but there was still 
 less to keep him here^ I suppose/ 
 
 ' Devilish little to keep him anywhere/ mut- 
 ters his quondam friend^ grumpy at having made 
 so little impression on Hawkestone^ who was al- 
 ready several paces away from him^ and talking 
 to somebody else. 
 
 The people who really interested themselves 
 about him were those who never knew him ; but 
 who thought it right to be interested about a 
 ruined Guardsman^ of any sort^ as being on the 
 confines of high life ; these were the would-be 
 fashionables of commercial society. ' Two more 
 gone, Jemima Anne,' remarks Barber of the Corn- 
 exchange, sitting down to dinner, and helping his 
 wife to soup : '' Cranstone's dead, destroyed him- 
 self; lost forty thousand on the Waterpark 
 steeplechase ; it's all in the paper : and that 
 good-looking fellow. Falcon, bolted.' 
 
 ' Who's he, dear ? ' inquires Jemima Anne, a 
 matter-of-fact sort of woman. 
 
 ' Oh, you know — was in the Guards — deuced 
 handsome fellow.' 
 
 ' What, a friend of yours, dear ? ' 
 
 'Well, not exactly a friend. I knew him 
 quite well though,' he ought to have added, ' by 
 sight,' but he thought it scarcely worth while.
 
 ECONOMY. 177 
 
 ' I'm really very sorry for liim, for lie was a very 
 good fellow^ at least everybody says so/ No- 
 body bad ever mentioned bim to Barber tbat bad 
 even a bowing acquaintance witb Harold. 
 
 The great world ougbt to be very mucb 
 obliged by tbe interest wbicb is taken in it by us 
 little folk, if it did bat know it. 
 
 Wben Lord Hawkestone walked down to Tat- 
 tersalPs witb tbe money from Harold to settle his 
 book^ wbicb was very easily done^ be found tbe 
 market very little depressed by Lord Cranstone's 
 suicide. Tbe few thousands due bad been spread 
 over a tolerably wide surface, and Harold Falcon 
 was tbe only one who bad lost much by bim. 
 The Jews had had so much of his money that 
 they must have paid themselves over and over 
 again. 
 
 ' Captain Childers, were you looking for any 
 one in particular ? ' said Hawkestone, as he saw 
 that worthy gentleman from Oxfordshire on the 
 look-out. 
 
 ' Well, for no one very particularly ; but Car- 
 ruthers asked me to arrange one or two of his 
 bets for him, as I was obliged to come up, and 
 he couldn't.' The Flying Childers was quite 
 certain that Lord Hawkestone owed him nothing, 
 nor he him. 
 
 VOL. I. 12
 
 178 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 ' I think I can relieve your anxieties, if you 
 have any ; ^ and walking on one side he took the 
 notes from his pocket-book, and counting them 
 out, that there might be no suspicion of his per- 
 sonal interference in his cousin's affairs, said, 
 ' Captain Falcon called upon me on Saturday, 
 because he was about to leave London yesterday, 
 and asked me to pay you this money for Carru- 
 thers ; do me the favour to see that it's right/ 
 
 ^ Quite right,' said the Flyer, who was accus- 
 tomed to deal with such matters, crumpling the 
 notes up, and thrusting them carelessly into his 
 left-hand trowsers pocket. ' I know Carruthers' 
 account from my own by the pockets ; I've given 
 him the left and kept the other for my own. 
 They're neither of them full yet : ' saying which, 
 he cancelled the bet in Carruthers' book. '■ Did 
 you say Falcon had left town yesterday ? ' 
 
 ' I did ; he intended to go, and I believe he 
 went. He's gone on the continent for a short 
 time.' 
 
 ' Ah, I'm sorry for him. It was too bad of 
 Cranstone. He ought to have paid first, and then 
 nobody would have said anything about it.' By 
 which Lord Hawkestone learnt that there were 
 two ways of regarding the same thing. It seemed 
 that Harold's sentiments and his own might be
 
 ECONOMY. 179 
 
 the riglifc thing, but were not both in the right 
 place at ' the Corner/ 
 
 After this Harold Falcon was soon forgotten 
 by all but his cousin and his family. Lord 
 Falconberg came to town, and with him Lady 
 Helen. One brother was at Woolwich, a good 
 soldier, who had been put in there as usual in 
 those times by favour. Another was at Eton, 
 who could neither spell nor write English nor do 
 the rule of three, but an excellent school-boy, and 
 could make sapphics as fast as a little dog could 
 trot. A third was waiting for ordination, a good 
 man and having a call, as I verily believe, to the 
 family-living, twelve hundred a-year; and likely 
 to make better use of it than if he had come a 
 licentiate from St Abeilles ; a good churchman, 
 not as yet given to chasubles and incense, and 
 not deep in Professor Maurice, nor Gladstone's 
 Church Principles. 
 
 Lady Helen was a fine, frank, open-hearted 
 girl, very handsome, of a beauty somewhat lyro- 
 nonce, as I said before, but with such kind and win- 
 ning ways, that she mingled with her dignity a 
 charm of manner perfectly irresistible. The im- 
 pressions she produced were as variable as the 
 temperature ; and it was singular that every one of 
 her acquaintancehad hit upon a different excellence
 
 180 
 
 by wliicli lie or slie judged. Her intelligence, witli 
 wL-icli no man falls in love, delighted those who 
 preferred rational conversation; and her sympathy 
 and tact made her the especial favourite of the 
 empty young heads that bobbed up and down 
 nightly to the music of Weippart or Konig. Cornet 
 Teteveau used to say, she was the only girl he 
 ever cared a pin to dance with, for nobody else 
 ever seemed to understand him, and he was sure 
 he did not understand them. Her truth charmed 
 the honest, her consideration the timid. She was 
 as careful of a person^s feelings as a well-bred horse 
 is of stepping upon a fallen rider, and as independ- 
 ent and courageous in defence of her sex or her 
 order, as a Knight Templar before Saladin at the 
 lake of Tiberias or at Acre ; and her form and 
 features were of a kind to give the highest effect 
 to every sentiment. Her eyes could flash with 
 lustrous brilliancy, or smile with a soft subdued 
 light through their drooping lashes. Her short 
 and expressive lip curled with scorn of base ac- , 
 tions, closed with determination, or showed the 
 pearls between with that happy joyousness, which 
 is the most infectious of all graces. Her sincerity 
 was the distinguishing feature of her character 
 and apparent throughout, but it was tempered
 
 ECONOMY. 181 
 
 witli a forbearance wliich never permitted it to 
 give offence. 
 
 Of course Lord Hawkestone heard from his 
 cousin. As a matter of courtesy it was to be ex- 
 pected, as a matter of business it was necessary. 
 He seldom talked about Harold — never to indif- 
 ferent persons; only occasionally to liis family. 
 Lord Falconberg beard nothing, as it happened, 
 about his nephew's escapades. He knew him to 
 be generally extravagant, borrowing money and 
 betting ; but he had never heard of the extent to 
 which Harold's unfortunate extravagancies had 
 carried him. He was very angry when he sold 
 his commission, attributing it rather to a love of 
 idleness, and a wanton vagabond sort of life on 
 town and at Newmarket, than to its real cause — 
 his necessities. And Harold Falcon had so few 
 enemies, one might almost say so many friends, 
 that though they wouldn't, or couldn't, save him 
 from the Jews, they never gave him up to his 
 uncle. 
 
 ' Where is Harold now, Hawkestone ; you 
 know his address ? ' said Lord Falconberg at a 
 dinner at his own house. 
 
 ' I know his address, but I can't tell exactly 
 where he is, for the banker at Innsbruck is only
 
 182 LORD falconberg's hetr. 
 
 authorized to forward his letters. The last I had 
 from him, he was walking through the Bavarian 
 Highlands. He was then at Berchtesgarten, in- 
 specting the Konig See, and fishing.^ Here 
 Lord Hawkestone stopped, thinking he had said 
 enough. 
 
 ' That's his view of economy. Tve no doubt 
 he spends as much there as he does here. He'd 
 much better come back.' 
 
 ' That can hardly be, my dear father. Here's 
 Bertie Carteret saw him the other day, and says 
 that he was then at Salzburg, living like an 
 anchorite. Bertie,' added he, ' what did you say 
 he was doing ? ' 
 
 ' He was living on half-a-crown a day, and 
 travelling on foot everywhere. I dined with him, 
 and he was quite eloquent on the economy of the 
 Tyrol. He says he often gets his breakfast for 
 threepence. He catches his own trout, and has 
 the cooking, coffee, and bread and butter for a 
 few pence. I can easily believe it,' concluded 
 Bertie ; ' it's about its value.' 
 
 ^You're not enthusiastic about scenery, I 
 suppose, Mr Carteret ? ' said Lady Helen, who 
 listened to this account of Harold with some 
 interest. 
 
 ' Not when accompanied by stone floors and
 
 ECONOMY. 183 
 
 a plethora of veal. We got no other meat, and 
 there was not a decent inn out of the beaten 
 track, and not two in it/ 
 
 ' How came you in the Tyrol so early ? ' 
 ' I was coming home from Italy, and halted 
 on my way at Salzburg. Finding Harold, I 
 stopped; for he was quite alone — nobody there 
 at this season.' 
 
 ' How very strange it must seem to my cousin,* 
 said Lady Helen, ' after living as he has done 
 here for so long.' 
 
 ' Very foolish of him,' said Lord Falconberg. 
 ' Why doesn't he come home ; there's plenty of 
 room for him here. Write to him, my dear.' 
 
 'Not very foolish, papa; you must see his 
 motive. If he has a hard school to go to, and a 
 hard lesson to learn in it, it's all the better that 
 he should do so now^. Let him learn it thoroughly.' 
 
 ' I should have thought you were the last 
 person to have recommended that course, Helen. 
 I'm sure you'd welcome Harold home — ' 
 
 ' I think Helen was right, sir, nevertheless,' 
 said Lord Hawkestone. ' Depend upon it he 
 hasn't been so happy for years. Here he was 
 always depending upon other people; there he 
 will learn to depend upon himself.' 
 
 ' And who's oroincf to ride Crusader next
 
 184 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 winter, if Harold doesn^t come down to Hawke- 
 stone ? ^ inquired the peer with some asperity. 
 
 ' Winter ! oh, that^s quite a diflferent matter/ 
 said Hawkestone ; ' he^ll be home in the autumn, 
 I should think. If not, Helen will give you leave 
 to send for him.' 
 
 ' Helen will do nothing of the kind/ and she 
 blushed. ' Harold has to take care of himself; 
 and he seems to me to have set about it at last. 
 Don't tempt him, Hawkestone, at present; the 
 cure's not radical.' 
 
 ' But it's a serious matter for my father,' re- 
 plied Lord Hawkestone, laughing. 
 
 ' The best thing my father can do is to give 
 him or get him some employment. Surely, with 
 this Ministry, we ought to be able to do some- 
 thing for him.' 
 
 'Ah, that's the difficulty, Nelly. Pubhc 
 business doesn't keep men out of mischief. A 
 fellow like Harold, whom everybody knows and 
 likes, is sure to have a book full of caricatures, 
 and blotting-paper covered with likenesses of his 
 chief. They do nothing, and the chiefs do less.' 
 
 ' That's a promising sketch of the executive, 
 at all events,' said she. 
 
 'It's a true one. Lady Helen,' says Bertie 
 Carteret ; ' I know it all. We never do any-
 
 ECONOMY. 185 
 
 tiling. We've a lot who came in on competition. 
 They know everything — or say they do; but 
 they're really as useless, and far less ornamental, 
 than those who belong to the ancient order of 
 Her Majesty's officials.' 
 
 ' Then, papa, I don't think official life will do 
 for Harold at all. You must make him your 
 agent.' 
 
 ' That was meant for George, but he's never 
 been heard of since he took his degree,' said 
 Lord Falconberg. ' Does anybody know where 
 he is ? ' 
 
 ' He's going to the colonies,' said Carteret 
 again ; ' he told me so the other day. He's now 
 at Gray's Inn, but I saw him in the Temple.' 
 
 ' IVTiich of the colonies is he going to ? ' asked 
 Hawkestone. 
 
 ' He didn't say which ; but I think Lord Fal- 
 conberg had better give me the agency,' replied 
 Bertie, laughing at his own impudence. 
 
 'You'll find it harder work than drawing 
 caricatures of your chief, Bertie,' said the old 
 lord, helping himself and passing the claret. 
 
 Bertie did not have the agency, but continued 
 to caricature the Ministers. He complained much 
 that they were Whigs, as he wanted a change to 
 try his hand on. And the summer went by, and
 
 186 
 
 the London season was past^ and Harold still re- 
 mained abroad. His cousin George went to tlie 
 colonies for a time, having got a pretty good ap- 
 pointment. Goodwood was just over, and Lord 
 Falconberg had a few visits to pay with his 
 daughter. After that he meant to join Lord 
 Hawkestone in Scotland, who was gone salmon 
 fishing.
 
 187 
 
 CHAPTEE XYI. 
 
 HAROLD FALCON EECEIVES SOME INTELLIGENCE WHEN 
 HE LEAgI? EXPECTS IT. 
 
 With all the travelling whicli lias taken place 
 since the time of which I am speaking, very few- 
 people have visited the country in which Herr 
 Jansen and his daughter were to be found some 
 time after they had left England. The house in 
 which they were living was a small cottage, com- 
 fortable to the last degree, for the country in 
 which it was situated ; accommodated with Eng- 
 lish furniture — carpets, curtains, and such mat- 
 ters — unknown even in the better class of houses 
 at that period. It was situated between Cleves 
 and Nimeguen, considerably removed from the 
 high road, in a bit of country partaking of the 
 sandy soil and tree-clad knolls of the former 
 place. In itself it was pretty enough, surrounded 
 by a small garden, and externally decorated with 
 some of the rude attempts at carving which pro- 
 claimed Herr Jansen's taste and its own antiquity.
 
 388 LOED falconberg's heir. 
 
 Margaret Jansen's was the same sad but 
 beautiful face as we saw it a short time before 
 in England. Her father^s was disfigured just 
 now with sullenness which was not natural to it, 
 and to which his ordinary violence had given 
 place. I have said before that it was a handsome 
 face, but it must be marvellous beauty that is not 
 disfigured by such a temper. His violence was 
 not unbecoming to him as a matter of appearance. 
 
 Margaret was knitting. These German and 
 Dutch women, and all who have aflSnity with 
 them by blood or habitude, will knit till your 
 gall rises at the provoking monotony of their 
 fingers. She sat back in an arm-chair, while her 
 father stood before her in a denouncing attitude, 
 one hand claspiug an instrument of his art, the 
 other a drawing, which he seemed to have been 
 studying. The tears were coursing each other 
 down the cheeks of his daughter. 
 
 ^It's done, and it can^t be undone,' said he, 
 menacing her with his hand. ' You have not 
 fulfilled your part of the contract. That you 
 should have returned to your fathei'^s house from 
 the church-door, so to speak, by your own folly 
 and obstinacy, is more than I could believe, if I 
 were not here to see it, and to hear you declare 
 it.'
 
 UNEXPECTED INTELLIGENCE. 189 
 
 ' I could not help it^ fatter. I could not bear 
 it. I knew wliy lie was bi'ouglit here, wliy I was 
 brought here ; and when I thought of it, the de- 
 gradation and deceit was more than I could 
 endure.' Her tears flowed afresh. 
 
 ' You have become squeamish/ rephed Jan- 
 sen, satirically. 
 
 ' Not till the last moment. But when he be- 
 came generous ; when he told me the truth, and 
 gave me all back again that he might have taken, 
 I could not withhold the truth, and I told him 
 all.' The girl was half choked by her sobs, and 
 could scarcely proceed. 
 
 * And he returned you to your home. Who 
 can blame him ? not I.' And then Bernhard 
 Jansen looked long and more sadly at her. ' Mar- 
 garet, if you knew how hard it is for a child to 
 disappoint every hope, to probe every wound, to 
 tear off the rags that hide, without healing, the 
 cicatrice of a parent, you would not wonder at 
 the revulsion of feeling that would put away the 
 sight of what it once most loved. All my life 
 long I have wanted sympathy. My fellow-work- 
 men scarcely understood me when a boy ; your 
 mother was less careful of me than of my house ; 
 I looked to you, Peggy,' — and here Margaret got 
 up and threw her arms round the huge old man,
 
 190 LOED falconberg's heir. 
 
 and leant her liead upon Ws breast, — ' I watched 
 you, I indulged you, I listened to your wishes, I 
 made money, or tried to do so, by unworthy 
 means, for you. No one sympathized with my 
 failures ; and you cared nothing for my successes. 
 You cared for others; for their smiles and ap- 
 proval. You loved admiration, and the world, 
 and see what it has brought you : and then when 
 I would have done, have done all for you, to my 
 shame and discredit you turn round upon me 
 and thwart the scheme, on which you promised 
 ready obedience.' 
 
 *■ My father, I tried to obey you — to keep my 
 word — but I couldn't do it. He was too gener- 
 ous ; he spoke openly and honestly, and kindly, 
 but not affectionately, and — and — ' 
 
 ' You told him — what ? that you could not 
 love him, nor live with him, that your heart — ' 
 
 ' No, father, I told him what was right to tell 
 him, enough to bring me here again — where I 
 may live with you, father, and with my mother ; 
 and where I may see no more of the world's 
 gew-gaws, nor look for more admiration or want 
 more love than yours.' With which words she 
 looked up into the eyes of old Bernhard Jansen, 
 who could scarcely see her through the mist that 
 covered them. Then, for the first time for many
 
 UNEXPECTED INTELLIGENCE. 191 
 
 a long day, lie took his daughter in his arms, 
 and kissed her tenderly ; and putting her once 
 more in her seat, he walked steadily out of the 
 room. 
 
 From that day Peggy^s indiscretions were 
 forgiven, if not forgotten, by her father. 
 
 With regard to Harold Falcon himself, his 
 friend Bertie Carteret had told nearly the truth. 
 He was living the life of an anchorite, for him. 
 It is only the life, however, which is led by thou- 
 sands who can afford nothing better, but whose 
 will it is to wander a certain number of weeks of 
 every year at every possible inconvenience. He 
 moved from place to place, carrying his knap- 
 sack, and sending his baggage by the great 
 routes. There were no railroads then, and he 
 trusted to the great Flemish horses, or the mules, 
 or the Eilwagen, to supply him with occasional 
 changes. 
 
 He could not have passed through a more 
 sudden and incomprehensible difference, had he 
 plunged from the heat of a vapour-bath into the 
 baths at Chamouni, and they are the coldest I 
 remember to have felt. He had in one fortnight 
 dissipated an idle dream, which seemed as though 
 it ought to last for ever, and exchanged for a 
 healthy, active, economical, and utterly useless
 
 192 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 existence^ the refinements of higli society, and 
 the vices of luxury^ idleness, selfishness, and de- 
 pendence, amid which he was only saved from 
 utter reprobation by the instincts of an English 
 gentleman. 
 
 There he was, however, walking from moun- 
 tain to mountain, living at whatever hotel, or 
 auberge, presented itself; economizing his scanty 
 allowance, and — luxury of luxuries ! — paying for 
 what he had. 
 
 As the summer advanced, he began to be 
 bored by the succession of visitors who poured 
 into the table d'hStes, and amongst whom he 
 could not help meeting occasional friends, as in 
 the case of Bertie Carteret. Harold had no great 
 spirits to encounter loud acclamations of recog- 
 nition from men who had forgotten his existence, 
 till they saw him : and the pleasure of joining 
 them had become questionable, the profit nil, 
 when they talked of a rubber, devilled kid- 
 neys, and oceans of claret, as the purest luxuries 
 of a continental life. Not that the exodus from 
 this country at all resembles what it is now in 
 quantity and quality, but there were adventurous 
 spirits who thought the Swiss mountains were 
 worth exploring, and who endeavoured to make 
 English habits dominant among foreign materials. 
 
 It was very seldom indeed that Harold was
 
 UNEXPECTED INTELLIGENCE. 193 
 
 induced to join any particular party of this kind 
 for more than an hour or two. His great objec- 
 tion was the additional expense which he could not 
 afford, and the determination to be independent 
 in his movements. It must be admitted that 
 after some days, perhaps hours, Harold's old 
 associates would have found him duller than 
 formerly. That peculiar elasticity of mind was 
 gone. His debts and his difficulties had de- 
 pressed his spirits, and made him think : a habit 
 for which he had seldom had credit given to him, 
 among the very liberal supplies of that article, 
 which had been working his ruin. There were 
 plenty of people, however, estimable people too, 
 who would have preferred Harold as he was, to 
 Harold as he had been ; but these were of the 
 steady kind, not given to devilled kidneys and 
 oceans of claret. 
 
 It so happened that Harold Falcon had re- 
 tired upon Munich, as a place in which he might 
 winter. The autumn was advancing ; and what 
 with the high road to Vienna, and to one of the 
 Italian passes, it was a not impossible place for 
 some amusement with its well-known economy. 
 In those days, it was an admirable winter re- 
 sidence ; and Harold Falcon was an admirer of 
 art in all its forms. 
 
 VOL, I. 13
 
 194 LOED falconberg's heir. 
 
 He was at tlie table d'hote of the principal 
 hotel, having just taken a seat between a Russian 
 officer and a Viennese dowager, when three Eng- 
 lishmen, one of whom he knew intimately, took 
 their seats opposite to him. They were mani- 
 festly off a journey, and they were not long in 
 telling Harold where they were come from. 
 
 ' Oberammergau ? ' repeated he, after one or 
 two vain endeavours to repeat the word. 'And 
 where is Oberammergau ? and what in the name 
 of fortune took you there, Desmond ? ' 
 
 ' It^s in the Bavarian Highlands,' replies 
 Desmond ; ' and a wonderful place it is. Splendid 
 scenery and rather out of the way, so that you 
 won't like it. Accommodation not quite St 
 • ames's pattern. There's more beer in the place 
 than cura^oa, and more tobacco than either.' 
 
 Tm not frightened, if you'll only tell me 
 where it is, and why I should go there.' 
 
 ' The best way to reach it is by Starnberg, and 
 from there, on the road to Innsbruck, you turn 
 off in a magnificent valley — the valley of the 
 Ammer. The village itself is enclosed by moun- 
 tains and not easy of access, and would be a 
 splendid shelter from persevering creditors.' 
 
 'If that's the only advantage, I think Mu- 
 nich is equally good.'
 
 UNEXPECTED INTELLIGENCE. 195 
 
 ' Well, that's not exactly wliat took me there. 
 I'm great, as you know, at private theatricals, 
 and I heard of a medigeval affair of that sort to 
 be seen only every ten years : it was the life and 
 death of our Saviour represented on the stage! 
 I've been astonished, as you may believe, who 
 know what amateur theatricals sometimes are, 
 but I never expected to see such an extraordinary 
 performance as that of last Sunday,' Here Des- 
 mond and his friends rose, as the majority of the 
 company left the room. ' Kellner, another bottle 
 of that excellent Liebfrau milch, and another 
 glass.' They sat down again. 
 
 ' But, Desmond, that's only a repetition of the 
 old Parisian mysteries or miracle plays, which 
 have been so tritely explained in a late article in 
 the Quarterly ; and in which Samson dances a 
 jjas seid with the gates of Gaza on his back, and 
 the Philistines take him prisoner in a quadrille.' 
 Saying which, these young men, having the room 
 nearly to themselves, proceeded to light cigars 
 (bad ones as might be expected from our present 
 knowledge of that article), and continued their 
 conversation with more cmpressemcnt than is 
 fashionable in Pall-mall. 
 
 ' It's not exactly that, I think. This is the 
 result of a vow by the inhabitants only of this
 
 196 LOED falconberg's heir. 
 
 valley in tlie early part of tlie seventeentli century/ 
 
 ' And who are the actors ? ' inquh-ed Harold. 
 
 ' The villagers or parishioners themselves. 
 That was a part of the vow in the event of a plague 
 or pestilence ceasing in that particular place. ^ 
 
 ' And do you mean that the di*ama is remark- 
 able for anything but its absurdity V 
 
 ' Absurdity is utterly removed from it. To 
 some men it may appear solemnly blasphemous, 
 to others it may be worth critical examination as 
 a Scriptural play, but to neither will it exhibit 
 features of ridicule.^ 
 
 'Then on my mind, and I am not a puritan at 
 all events, I think the first effect would be pro- 
 duced, unless the acting is bad; in which case the 
 other.' 
 
 'It is a remarkable fact, that the acting is 
 singularly good : the effect produced by having 
 seen Pontius Pilate, the night before, with a 
 tremendous German pipe, inviting his cus- 
 tomers to fill themselves with Bavarian beer, and 
 by recognizing Judas Iscariot on the morning of 
 representation, as the honest landlord of your own 
 inn, is odd, but it soon wears off in the interest.' 
 
 ' Interest — isn't it tiresome, monotonous ? ' 
 
 ' Monotonous ? Have you seen Macready as 
 Coriolanus ? I've seen a better Roman in Pontius
 
 UNEXPECTED INTELLIGENCE. 197 
 
 Pilate. Have you seen Kean in Sliylock ? I've 
 seen a better, a more terrible, Jew. And there's 
 a chorus.'' 
 
 ' A chorus — what do you mean ? ' 
 
 ' Why, not such a chorus as ' We are jolly 
 good fellows,' but a Greek chorus, who perfoi'm 
 the parts assigned to them by Horace to the 
 music of Bach.' 
 
 ' And is there nothinsr revoltino^ in it ? ' said 
 Harold Falcon once more, who with all his gam- 
 bling and debts had a just idea of the fitness of 
 things.' 
 
 ' Did I say nothing ? ' replied Desmond. ' I 
 won't say nothing, for the sacrament is adminis- 
 tered on a stage by a representative of our Sav- 
 iour ; Judas positively hangs himself before your 
 face, and the crucifixion becomes a palpable fact. 
 But you must see it. Falcon.' 
 
 * I will,' said Harold — and he did. But when 
 he took leave of Munich for Oberammergau he 
 had little idea of the intelligence that awaited 
 him there. 
 
 It will not be necessary to trouble my readers 
 with an account of the most extraordinary per- 
 formance that can well be conceived. A specta- 
 cle in a theatre which so far resembles the classic 
 stage as to be canopied only by the heavens, and
 
 198 LOED falconberg's heir. 
 
 to whicli some four tliousand spectators are ad- 
 mittedj wlio remain unwearied on tlieir seats from 
 about seven in the morning till four in the after- 
 noon, may well bear that epithet. But as Des- 
 mond had well said_, the conception of the cha- 
 racters, the comprehension of the whole scheme, 
 the delineation of the most mysterious life, death, 
 and resurrection of the as yet incomprehensible, 
 may be called something more than extraordinary. 
 Fancy the Sanhedrim, its arguments, its deter- 
 mination, its refractory members. The social 
 state of Mary and Martha, the last supper, the 
 betrayal, the visible raising on the cross of the 
 actor in these scenes ; the unbelief of the multi- 
 tudes, the gentlemanly indifference of the Roman, 
 the turbulent malice of the Jews, even to the ap- 
 parent resurrection amid the astounded soldiery. 
 Has it not all been written in the columns of the 
 Times newspaper, in the year eighteen hundred 
 and sixty. 
 
 It was then on a brilliant morning in Septem- 
 ber that Harold Falcon found himself at the 
 doors of what we must call the theatre. He was 
 one of several hundreds already waiting to secure 
 a seat. He had arrived by dihgence the night 
 before, and, though the accommodation was of 
 the roughest, he did not feel disposed to be very
 
 UNEXPECTED INTELLIGENCE. 199 
 
 cxigcant. In a village whose population was 
 four hundred, but had amounted to about as many 
 thousands for this occasion, the effect upon chance 
 passengers, as regarded bed-fellows, might be 
 expected to rival the inconveniences of poverty 
 itself. Tables, chairs, casks, from which the beer 
 had long departed, the bare floor, in many in- 
 stances without a covering, empty waggons, 
 and the vehicles and conveyances which were to 
 remain ready for to-morrow^s exodus, were none 
 without their occupants. 
 
 Harold looked in vain for a fellow-country- 
 man ; and had he not found a good-natured Ger- 
 man who interpreted his French into a Tyrolese 
 2)atois, it is doubtful by what means he would have 
 got anything to eat or drink in a land which 
 appeared to be flowing with milk and honey. 
 
 Harold fought his way into what ought to have 
 been a church this same Sunday morning, but 
 which was, as I say, a theatre. The front seats, 
 into one of which he climbed, were protected to a 
 certain extent from the sun by an enormous 
 canopy overshadowing about two-thirds of the 
 spectators, and extending its welcome shade as 
 far as the orchestra. From rain protection seemed 
 not likely to be needed. Some members of the 
 royal family having arrived at the proper time, a
 
 200 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 great condescension in crowned heads^ tlie drama 
 began. 
 
 When Harold Falcon took his eyes off the 
 stage, which he hardly did till the first act was 
 finished (and there were twelve, to say nothing of 
 entr'actes and the chorus), he turned them on his 
 neighbour. It was quite clear that Harold was 
 the only Englishman in the place. There was 
 scarcely an upturned face that could be mistaken 
 for the cleanly- shaven type of our countrymen. 
 There were apparently few but Germans ; and 
 one of those few was the man who sat next to 
 Harold. He was a young Frenchman, and a 
 gentleman. A Parisian one would say ; for the 
 gloves he wore, in this savage valley, though not 
 irreproachably clean, fitted as at that period 
 Frenchmen's gloves only fitted. Harold looked 
 at his face a second time, and their eyes met. 
 There was then no difficulty in getting into con- 
 versation, excepting that which may exist be- 
 tween any old Etonian and a gentleman speaking 
 the language of society all over the world. They 
 would have made themselves understood when it 
 was absolutely necessary, but not before — fortun- 
 ately the Frenchman spoke English. We need 
 not give it with his accent or idiom. It is enough 
 to say that it was even worse than Harold's French.
 
 UNEXPECTED INTELLIGENCE. 201 
 
 ' Mais, it is wonderful ! ' said tlie FrencTiman, 
 shrugging liis shoulders. 
 
 ' You liave nothing like this in Paris ? ' said 
 Harold. 
 
 ' Nothing ; we are not fanatic enough. In 
 Spain — well — something of the kind ; but profes- 
 sional, rather than dramatic' 
 
 ' Have you just come from Paris ? ' inquired 
 Harold again, after a few remarks on the business 
 before them. 
 
 ' No, indeed ; I am going to Munich to-night, 
 as soon as this is over. Four o'clock, I think. I 
 have a caleche, if I can but get horses at Miirnau. 
 I came direct from Switzerland. I was lately at 
 Chamouni.' 
 
 ' I have been in Chamouni, early in the sea- 
 son,' said Harold, who felt bound to say some- 
 thing between the acts. 
 
 ' And have ascended Mont Blanc ? All Eng- 
 lishmen think it their duty to ascend a mountain, 
 where there is nothing to be seen and great dan- 
 ger to be incurred.' 
 
 ' No, indeed, I have not,' and Harold laughed j 
 ' but I don't know that I should have been de- 
 terred by the danger you speak of. It's a very 
 expensive kind of recreation. Besides which, 
 the weather is not favourable at all times.'
 
 202 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 ' You are riglit; none but the most experienced 
 guides should be consulted^ and their advice 
 strictly followed. Three of your countrymen 
 would be alive now_, fine young men^ if they had 
 listened to their guides/ 
 
 ' Three have died lately on Mont Blanc ? ' 
 
 Only two days ago. The day I left Chamouni. 
 The weather had been apparently splendid; and on 
 the day before^ these Englishmen wished to make 
 the ascent. An experienced guide^ named Balmat^ 
 came to us the night before (I was to have gone 
 with them)^ and showed us in the clear sky, hang- 
 ing over the mountains^ a small white cloud, no 
 bigger than my hand.^ And he held it out, well- 
 gloved and small. ' There is risk to-morrow in an 
 ascent, said he. All may go well, but there is 
 risk. I and my friends declined to go, and we 
 did all we could to persuade Mr Falcon to remain, 
 but—' 
 
 ' Mr who ? ' said Harold, and his eyes dilated, 
 and his hand rested on the arm of the Frenchman 
 with a nervous grasp, as he put the question. 
 
 ' Mr Falcon,' and he spoke as distinctly as 
 possible. ' What, you knew him ; he was a friend 
 of yours ? Ah, forgive me,' as he saw Harold's 
 agitation, who naturally first jumped to the con- 
 clusion that his cousin George was the victim of
 
 UNEXPECTED INTELLIGENCE. 203 
 
 his own rashness. So satisfied was he of this 
 probability that he forgot to hear the end of the 
 catastrophe. It was sufficient for him that a Mr 
 Falcon had perished on Mont Blanc : there was 
 but one of that name that it could well be. 
 
 His mind was made up at once, so he said ab- 
 ruptly, 
 
 ' You return to Munich at once ? ' 
 
 ' My carriage is ordered at half-past four to- 
 day.^ 
 
 ' The gentleman you mention is a relative of 
 mine. I can get to Chamouni more quickly by 
 reaching Munich or Innsbruck first. You will 
 excuse me if I ask whether you have room, and if 
 so inclination to allow me to share your carriage, 
 should you have room.^ 
 
 The Frenchman took his hand, and assured 
 Harold of his wish and power to serve him. He 
 had no companions on this part of his journey, 
 and the Englishman's company would be a plea- 
 sure to him, and a great advantage : you know 
 the road ? ' It was kindly said. 
 
 ' I know you must go to a place called Miir- 
 nau from here ; and then to the lake of Starnbcrg. 
 The road to Munich is well known from there, 
 and we shall reach it late to-night or early to- 
 moiTOW morning.'
 
 204 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 ' That will depend upon the horses/ inquired 
 the Frenchman. 
 
 ' Whether we can get them ? At a time like 
 this there may be difficulties.^ 
 
 '^Then let us be off at once. Anything to 
 relieve your anxieties.^ 
 
 ' No^ no^ monsieur/ — and Harold insisted upon 
 his friend remaining to the last scene, — ' after that 
 as soon as you will.'' 
 
 The journey to Munich was a difficulty from 
 the crowded state of the road. First, was the 
 caleche forthcoming ? There it stood, ready and 
 packed, and Harold threw in his knapsack, and 
 was ready to be gone. He fidgetted to a degree. 
 Then came the horses. The landlord was willing 
 to assist the Frenchman, reminiscent of old 
 alliances (for he had been a soldier), and he put 
 the horses to, with Harold's assistance. But where 
 was the post-boy — the Kutscher ? WTiere was 
 the best Bavarian beer to be found ? And while 
 Harold bit his lip, and thought over the teri'ible 
 catastrophe, he could not ask his companion to 
 recount the story. At last came the Kutscher, 
 and they started. 
 
 But when men are in a hurry they alwaj-s 
 seem to be delayed. Not that really they are so, 
 but their thoughts so far precede their actions, as
 
 UNEXPECTED INTELLIGENCE. 205 
 
 to tlirow tlie latter needlessly into the background. 
 The crowd was not greater at the dirty little vil- 
 lage, at which they stopped to sup, and bait their 
 cattle on schivartz-hrod, than was always the case 
 on such occasions; but Harold's mind was at 
 Munich, anxiously inquiring for letters, long before 
 his body could be so. The steamer on the lake 
 at Starnberg was no later than usual, nor were 
 they longer in getting the caleche on board than 
 they should have been, but Harold Falcon had 
 not been accustomed to contradiction or delay, 
 and the present seemed to him an occasion when 
 there ought to have been none. He swallowed 
 his food as if bad digestion was an acceleration of 
 speed; and when at last he reached Munich, he 
 was disposed to blame the government that he 
 had still some few hours, in which he must refresh 
 himself after his journey. 
 
 His fellow-traveller, Alphonse de Castelnau, 
 flattered himself that he had acquired the sang- 
 froid which was supposed to be purely British, 
 that he had in fact supplanted his companion in 
 that desirable characteristic. 
 
 * Did you hear. Monsieur do Castelnau, who 
 were the companions of Mr Falcon in his 
 ascent.' 
 
 ' No, indeed, I did not. The principal was a
 
 206 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 Mr Falcon; tliose wlio accompanied liim were 
 younger. He seemed to have tlie management 
 of them. They lived together the only two days 
 I was with them^ and arranged the intended 
 ascent among themselves.^ 
 
 This was but little like George, unless he had 
 taken pupils with him from Oxford or London, 
 thought Harold. And then he proceeded to 
 catechise his companion, who to tell the truth 
 was well disposed to gratify his curiosity. 
 
 ' Tall, I think you say ? ' And to show how 
 much his mind was occupied with his subject, he 
 asked the question a propos to nothing. 
 
 'Yes, and rather dark, but not so dark as 
 you.' Saying which, the young Frenchman 
 looked at Harold, and tried to trace a likeness, 
 but failed. Then he ventured to ask for par- 
 ticulars. ' They had been watched from the 
 Breven ; everything had gone right even to the 
 grands et jpetits mulets: but the atmosphere had 
 become clouded, the wind had risen, the summer 
 heat had loosened the frozen snow from its base, 
 and an avalanche from which there was no escape 
 had carried down the three • Englishmen and a 
 guide, the rest having been miraculously pre- 
 served; they themselves knew not how.' 
 
 Harold arrived at Chamouni at last, not by our
 
 UNEXPECTED INTELLIGENCE. 207 
 
 modern method of railway travelling, but by the 
 monotonous and circuitous route of divers eil- 
 wagens, which, if pace have anything to do with 
 it, certainly do not deserve the name. He had 
 written to his banker at Vienna, and received 
 supplies_, which met him at one point of his 
 journey ; for he felt that it would be necessary to 
 husband his resources for the melancholy event 
 in which he was to participate. There was no 
 doubt of its truth, and an interview with the 
 first stranger he met, left no doubt on his mind 
 of the truth of a portion at least of the French- 
 man's story. 
 
 The man who reaches a place unexpectedly, 
 bearing the same name as one who has just been 
 destroyed by an avalanche, unless ifc be Smythe 
 or Jones, is sure of some sort of recognition. He 
 must excite some feeling, either of curiosity or 
 envy, perhaps of compassion. The aubergiste 
 was all attention, and detailed as much as he 
 knew of the adventure. ' The three gentlemen 
 had met with this untimely fate ' — he said that in 
 English, having learnt much of that language 
 from books. He added the expressive word 
 ' schrecklich ' from his own. Would Monsieur 
 like to see the visitors' book, and the English 
 chaplain. The first was in the house, the second
 
 208 LORD falconbeeg's heir. 
 
 in his lodgings^ not a stone^s throw from the hotel. 
 
 ' Yes/ said Harold, ' I should like to see the 
 visitors' book ; but not here. Allow me to come 
 to your private apartment.' 
 
 ' With pleasure. Monsieur,' and the waiter 
 led the way. Before he left the public-room, into 
 which he had been shown, Harold looked round. 
 There were a few Englishmen there, not one of 
 whom he knew; a few who might have been 
 English had they not been Americans. There 
 was nobody immediately present to whom he felt 
 disposed to talk, so he followed the waiter. 
 
 He was scarcely prepared for the surprise. 
 He ran his finger down the book in the page pre- 
 sented to him by the landlord, who stood aloof, 
 and stopped at the word ' Falcon.' 
 
 The Hon. Jervoise Falcon. 
 
 ' 8i, Monsieur; that's the gentleman who was 
 here, and is — ' The man did not finish the sen- 
 tence. Harold's finger continued along the line, 
 — ' and brothers.' 
 
 ' The Hon. Jervoise Falcon and brothers,' re- 
 peated he to himself, scarcely able to articulate 
 the words; 'my cousins — poor Helen!' The 
 book remained open before him. 
 
 ' And those were the gentlemen who were 
 with you ? '
 
 UNEXPECTED INTELLIGENCE. 209 
 
 ' Tliey were. Tliej made the ascent together. 
 They waited here some days before they could 
 ascend, and then, ach Gott!' And the poor land- 
 lord, who had the feeling of landlords usually for 
 lost customers, and some for customers lost al- 
 together, spread his hands and ceased speaking. 
 
 ' Der Herr Pasteur von Schmidt ! ' said the 
 waiter at this juncture opening the door. This 
 high-sounding title ushered in a quiet, well-bred 
 gentleman, clothed in coloured trowsers, a black 
 coat and waistcoat, and a white neckcloth, who 
 answered to the name of Smith. He was the 
 clergyman of the English congregation at Cha- 
 mouni during the summer and autumn months. 
 Such an institution was quite novel then ; it has 
 become necessary now. However, we may pre- 
 sume without offence that it is not the Smiths 
 who have brought the congregations, but the con- 
 gregations who have brought the Smiths. I wish 
 well to the labours of that energetic class during 
 the Paris Exhibition. There will be great need 
 of their labours, and much opportunity for their 
 exertions, if I know anything of the attractions 
 of that capital. 
 
 A word on Herr von Schmidt, who presented 
 himself to Harold as the English chaplain, anxious 
 to sympathize with a sufferer, and to oSer his 
 
 VOL. I. 14
 
 210 LORD falconberg's heir, 
 
 assistance in any way tliat it could be made avail- 
 able. Smith bad no fault in tbe world but one. He 
 found it quite impossible to make botb ends meet 
 upon seventy-five pounds a year and a cottage in a 
 healthy and picturesque part of Hampshire. He had 
 a wife and three children ; and he was obliged to 
 wash^ dress, and eat and drink — the whole lot of 
 them upon that miserable pittance — as a gentle- 
 man ought to do. He lasted as long as he could 
 in an ungrateful country which knows no crime 
 equal to poverty^ in a social point of view. He 
 had taken three years' credit, after paying away 
 all the ready money he could raise, and then dis- 
 appeared among the savage rocks, crevasses, and 
 glaciers of a country which, as Smith poetically 
 observed, was less inhospitable than his own. 
 Even there, he scarcely contemplated remaining 
 longer than necessity and his landlord's claims 
 demanded. Beyond this incapability to support 
 life (not his own alone) upon nothing, men knew 
 of nothing to his prejudice. 
 
 Mr Smith was not long in explaining to Harold 
 everything it was necessary for him to know. 
 There was no doubt as to the fact that the un- 
 happy Englishmen were Harold's cousins, Lord 
 Falconberg's sons. They had come abroad after 
 the beginning of the Eton vacation ; and as few
 
 UNEXPECTED INTELLIGENCE. 211 
 
 better opportunities could have presented them- 
 selves, under the guidance of Jervoise, the two 
 boys — one of nineteen, the other nearly two 
 years younger — had started for Switzerland. An 
 ascent of Mont Blanc has become a matter of 
 every day^s occurrence in these times of muscular 
 Christianity and universal athletics. At that time 
 it was a feat no more difficult than now, but 
 bringing with it just that amount of increased 
 glory which is due to the increased expense. 
 Even then, however, unruly spirits were unwilling 
 to take advice, or to govern themselves by that 
 experience, which, if it ever is peculiarly valuable, 
 is so in the latitude of the high Alps. 
 
 It is somewhat curious that, in a thoroughly 
 selfish, worldly-minded spendthrift, it was some 
 hours before he remembered the difference that 
 these most untimely deaths made to his own 
 prospects. He thought of Helen and of his uncle ; 
 and it was not till Mr Smith, in the plenitude of 
 his snobbism, reminded him of it, that he saw 
 how much more terrible this accident must ap- 
 pear than if it had happened to the three sons of 
 a poor old apple- woman, whose absolute bread 
 depended upon their existence ; as if natural 
 affection were nt)t always swallowed up in the 
 practical utility of one's offspring.
 
 212 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 ' Sons of Lord Falconberg, I believe, Mr Fal- 
 con/ said tlie Herr Pasteur ; ' always so distress- 
 ing when sucli a loss befalls our aristocracy.' 
 And Smith turned the cigar in his mouth, which 
 if worse was cheaper than those he smoked at 
 Cambridge. ' The loss of an eldest son must be 
 a terrible blow in such a family as yours.' 
 
 ' But this gentleman was not Lord Falcon- 
 berg's oldest son ; though I think my uncle and 
 the rest of the family will feel it terribly.' And 
 then it first occurred to Harold, that three days 
 ago there stood four good lives between him and 
 the title, and now but one. He was sure, at least, 
 that it would be welcome intelligence to Messrs 
 Meshech and Co.' 
 
 ' Ah, how fortunate ! ' said Smith, as if they 
 could therefore be well afibrded ; ' and you will 
 proceed to London immediately, I have already 
 seen the authorities here on the subject ; and 
 anything, as a relation, you should wish to be 
 done, shall be carried out to the letter. I mean 
 as to their effects. I fear there is no hope that 
 they, poor fellows, will ever be recovered.'
 
 213 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE PRODIGAL EETURNS. 
 
 There was nobody in town that could possibly 
 be out of it. There was Bond-street half up^ St 
 James's- street was in its usual condition of gas- 
 fitting, and Pall-mall was boarded and hoarded 
 from the Athenaeum to the Guards' Club. The 
 National Monuments were being cleaned^ and 
 another figure was being talked of for Trafalgar- 
 square, but nothing was being done. All the 
 men that one knew were in Scotland, i.e. about one 
 hundred per cent, of those that are there now ; all 
 the watering-places on the South-coast were full ; 
 Scarborough had just bought three bath-chairs ; 
 and St Leonards had succeeded in entrapping an 
 earl and two baronets with their families for a 
 month. The West- end looked as if the veriest 
 inauvais sujct might have traversed it with nothing 
 for idle hands to do. 
 
 The sun shone down upon the baked pave- 
 ments, the winds blew up and down the streets,
 
 214 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 the dust took possession of the shop windows and 
 counters^ for there were none to retard its pro- 
 gress by either a watering cart or a duster. 
 There was one waiter at Long's^ John Colhns 
 reigned alone at Limraers^, two clerks managed 
 the business at Herries and Farquhar^s^ while a 
 single partner sat in the back parlour studying 
 the Morning Post for an account of Lord Blazing- 
 ton's success among the grouse, and one sohtary 
 member, Boreham, had the whole of White's 
 window to himself. 
 
 It was late in the day when a post-chaise and 
 a pair of horses which were smoking with the last 
 stage of the Dover-road drove up to the Clarendon. 
 At that well-appointed house there was a porter, 
 who however felt that it must be a mistake, and 
 was about to close that portal upon the chaise, 
 when he happened to catch sight of the occupant. 
 He touched his hat and advanced to the window. 
 
 ' Will you inquire whether anything has been 
 left here for me, or whether Lord Falconberg has 
 been in town lately ? ' The man retired, and 
 returned in a minute. 
 
 ' A letter was sent from here to Lord Falcon- 
 berg only yesterday, sir : so that the clerk does 
 not think his lordship will be in town again yet. 
 His lordship went down to Hawkestone from
 
 THE PRODIGAL RETURNS. 215 
 
 liere. The house in Grosvenor-square is shut up, 
 sir/ 
 
 ' Thank you; tell him to drive on to Limmers'.' 
 And he did so. 
 
 At the moment the chaise turned into Con- 
 duit-street, Harold — for it was he — caught sight 
 of Lord Billesdon, an old acquaintance, and in- 
 timate with his cousin Hawkestone. His lo:;d- 
 ship not only knew everybody, but all things. If 
 anybody could give him information, it would 
 be he. 
 
 ' Billesdon,' said Harold, alighting opposite to 
 him, or rather waiting till he reached the corner 
 of St George's-street, ^how came you to be in 
 town ? ' 
 
 '^Not by choice, Harold. Did you ever see 
 such dust : Vm just back from Halliburton's. 
 The worst of the heather is that it unfits one for 
 any other sort of walking. I can hardly get on 
 on level ground without tumbling down.' And 
 here Lord Billesdon indulged in a laugh. 
 
 ' Good sport ? ' 
 
 f Excellent. Halliburton didn't shoot him- 
 self; but Spencer Pole did.' 
 
 ' Good heavens, Billesdon, what do you 
 mean ? ' 
 
 ' Oh ! I see — rather good that. I mean, did
 
 216 LORD falconbeeg's heir. 
 
 not shoot — himself, you know ? We were gener- 
 ally two parties of three guns each^ and he wasn^t 
 with us. Hawkestone was there — he left us two 
 or three days ago. Egad ! I see youVe heard the 
 news, by your hat. Awful ! wasn^t it ? ' 
 
 ' It was — then they knew it at Hawkestone. 
 I was half afraid they had never heard it : and 
 was going to post down to-night.' 
 
 ' Yes. It was in the papers. Now I think of 
 it, it's a pull for you. It's an ill wind that blows 
 nobody good.' Harold didn't answer his very 
 obvious congratulations ; but ordered a bed at 
 Limmers'. Having wished Lord Billesdon good- 
 bye, and declined his club-dinner, he performed 
 his ablutions and went out. 
 
 Whenever a man is bent upon shirking one 
 bore, or upon having a quiet hour's digestion, 
 mental or physical, he may be quite certain that 
 a moral Charybdis awaits him in the shape of 
 another. And so it was with Harold Falcon upon 
 this occasion. It may easily be conceived that he 
 had plenty of subjects on which to exercise his 
 meditations; and with a knowledge of the deserted 
 state of London it was not extraordinary that he 
 sought the solitude he wanted at his club. 
 
 To all appearance he found it. The huge 
 room was deserted, the handsome curtains, mir-
 
 THE PRODIGAL KETUENS. 217 
 
 rorSj and chandeliers were covered witli brown 
 hoUand, and one only servant with a tliird or 
 fourth day's pair of stockings on, and a generally 
 dirty tone, was to be found sitting disconsolately 
 over the evening paper. He looked almost happy 
 when Falcon asked what he could have for din- 
 ner, and presented a carte which had not been 
 changed since the functionary's shirt. Having 
 ordered what he wanted and taken his choice of 
 tables, he walked out for half an hour. 
 
 ' Well, Meshech,' said Harold, walking into the 
 dingy back room of a dirty house in Oxendon- 
 street, which had externally the appearance of a 
 lawyer's office, but was in reality a bill-discount- 
 ers' den of thieves, — ' good-morning. I'm come to 
 England with some foreign money, and I want to 
 change it. I'm going back to the club, and you 
 can do it at once. 
 
 ' With pleasure, captain,' said Meshech, bow- 
 ing in a fashion to Harold which was quite new 
 to him; 'with pleasure, and what's the figure, 
 captain ? ' 
 
 There's a rouleau, there's another, that's 
 eighty pounds. Here are half-a-dozen Napolcans, 
 at sixteen and eightpence; and these are five-franc 
 pieces. I know you'll give mo the best ex- 
 change.'
 
 218 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 ' Moses ! why should I give you the best ex- 
 change ? I should give the best to everybody. 
 There^ captain, there's the money. YouVe been 
 away in the country somewhere/ 
 
 ' I have, since I saw you. I think we^re all 
 safe now, Meshech. Nothing out against us ? ' 
 
 ' Nothing out against us, captain, assuredly. 
 And you don^t want anything in my way ? Times 
 are better, and I can afford a hundred at moderate 
 rate.' 
 
 ' That^s more than you could a twelvemonth 
 ago, Meshech. YouVe become wonderfully liberal 
 all of a sudden,' said Harold. 
 
 ' Ah, liberal — well, you're an old friend. Cap- 
 tain Falcon ; but money's very dear, very tight : 
 there's the whole of the regiment always a re- 
 newing.' 
 
 ' I can do without now, for the present that is. 
 But I say, Meshech, do you remember your offer 
 a long time ago — two thousand down for the re- 
 version of Hawkestone Castle and the estates ? ' 
 And Harold couldn't help looking somewhat mali- 
 ciously at the old Jew, who shrieked out, 
 
 ' Yes ! yes ! I'll do it now ; take three thou- 
 sand — there, that's handsome, captain ; you know 
 there's four good young lives between you and 
 Hawkestone.' But any one who had looked at the
 
 THE PRODIGAL RETURNS. 219 
 
 Jew might have detected some arriere 2)ensee. 
 Harold only smiled and said, 
 
 ' I^m afraid youVe been muddling your brain 
 by reading the papers, old man ; there, don't be 
 angry. You see I know all about it/ Saying 
 which Harold walked through the murky passage, 
 and disappeared. 
 
 His dinner was ready, and all the better for 
 being undisturbed. He had got to the lemon 
 pudding, which he thought safe, and knew to be 
 good, when a Colonel Mullingar walked into the 
 dining-room, and took the seat next to him. 
 
 Colonel Mullingar was an Irish gentleman of 
 good position, in parliament, chairman of quarter 
 sessions, and up to his eyes in horseflesh. Just 
 one of those men it is impossible to get rid of. 
 He had also the tenacity of the leech, when he 
 once drew blood. 
 
 ' Falcon, bedad ! is it you ? Ah, this is pleasant 
 now ; and nobody in London that fool of a waiter 
 said. What's the committee about that they keep 
 such a fellow ? Well, now, and how have you 
 been ? ' 
 
 Falcon groaned inwardly, but smiled like all 
 martyrs — it's the right thing to do. * Thank 
 you, pretty well.' Here the lemon pudding ought 
 to have been sent away, but he began to eat again
 
 220 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 in self-defence. Unfortunately tlie colonel was 
 one of tliose men wliom it is impossible to shunt ; 
 lie was so respectable tliat it did men good to be 
 seen witli liim even ; so that it would never do 
 for Harold to retreat ; besides he had ordered 
 cheese and a salad and a pint of Burgundy^ Glos 
 Vougeot. 
 
 ^What's doing in the country, colonel? Fve 
 been abroad.' 
 
 ' The ministers are performing just now on 
 the provincial stage. They prognosticate great 
 things for the people_, which are to cure all their 
 ailments : household suffrage, or manhood suf- 
 frage ; the universities thrown open to the Non- 
 conformists, excepting the E-omanists — which is 
 intended to gratify my countrymen ; an increase 
 of the Episcopate, without a seat in the Lords ; the 
 abolishment of capital punishment, and the Lord- 
 lieutenancy of Ireland ; and the total abolition of 
 the game-laws. 
 
 ' By Jove, colonel, those are sweeping mea- 
 sures. I presume they intend some of these mea- 
 sures to be gradual at all events.' 
 
 ' Faith, sir, I don't know what we're coming 
 to. I've a helper in my stables that can't clean 
 a horse ; but he can read and write and do the
 
 THE PRODIGAL RETURNS. 221 
 
 rule of three. And where do you come from just 
 now — from Hawkestone ? ' 
 
 ' From Chamouni, to-day, with some melan- 
 choly news for my uncle.' 
 
 ' WeVe heard of it. The old lord will suffer. 
 Falcon; it's a sad business, what with Lady Helen's 
 engagement, and Hawkestone's ill-health.' 
 
 This was news to Harold ; and he was so sur- 
 prised that he repeated the old colonel's words — 
 ^ Lady Helen's engagement ! ' 
 
 ' Why, haven't you heard ? The finest girl in 
 London engaged to that d — d fool, Farina.' 
 
 'And Hawkestone's ill -health. What's the 
 matter with Hawkestone ? ' 
 
 ' Matter enough, my dear fellow. He hasn't 
 six months to live. Cardiac has given him up, 
 and Dr Lob el thinks he may last two years in 
 Madeira, with luck. With luck, mind you.' 
 
 Harold was not a man of brusque manners, far 
 from it ; but he took up his hat, and wishing the 
 colonel a good evening, just as that worthy began 
 to think that he had roused some sort of interest 
 in his hearer, disappeared down the stairs, and 
 walked slowly to his hotel. 
 
 By the first particular conveyance out of town 
 the next momino; Harold Falcon took an outside
 
 222 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 place for Hawkestone. John Collins,, that elaborate 
 compounder of whisky punch (Stultz had his 
 rivals in coats, Golby in breeches, but John Col- 
 lins was unrivalled in punch), who had known the 
 captain in his palmiest days, was somewhat scan- 
 dalized by his proceedings. Nothing short of a 
 chaise out and pair would have satisfied him ; and 
 he was not quite sure that the captain should 
 have gone away from Conduit-street with less 
 than four. However, as it was clear to Harold 
 that he was saved from the pain of carrying such 
 heart-rending intelligence, he felt the necessity 
 of posting down the road to be less than that 
 which urged him up to town from Dover. 
 Indeed he was not very sorry to delay the meet- 
 ing with his uncle and cousin ; for he knew it 
 would be a painful one whenever it occurred ; 
 and the only bit of selfishness which peeped 
 out of his character was his sincere pleasure at 
 not being the first bearer of the melancholy 
 news. 
 
 He reached the lodge-gates of Hawkestone 
 Castle, and leaving his luggage made his way on 
 foot to the house. The servants who opened the 
 door to him were already in their mourning, and an 
 air of stillness, quite unusual with a place in which 
 so much gaiety and life had usually prevailed.
 
 THE PRODIGAL EETURNS. 223 
 
 proclaimed the change that had come over it. 
 When he reached the top of the magnificent stair- 
 case, which led to a room generally in use when 
 the family were alone, the servant threw open 
 the door and announced ' Mr Falcon/ 
 
 In a moment Hawkestone was on his feet ; 
 and walking up to his cousin, shook him warmly 
 by both hands ; while Lady Helen rose from her 
 chair and made no attempt to conceal her satis- 
 faction. 
 
 ' I knew it. I was sure this great grief would 
 bring Harold back to us.' 
 
 It was in his uncle that the young man saw 
 the great change that a few days' grief will some- 
 times bring to the old. The bereavement of his 
 sons had shaken the old lord ; and when Harold 
 sought him in his sanctum he found him unable 
 to conquer his emotion. The fine old sportman's 
 cheeks had not the fresh bright complexion, 
 which, with his white silken hair, was the charac- 
 teristic of his face ; and the clear gi'ay eye and 
 well-shaped features were drawn and lined, and 
 seemed not yet to have recovered their serenity. 
 Harold had been a great favourite of Lord Fal- 
 conberg, until his habits of dissipation and his 
 taste for gambling had somewhat alienated his 
 uncle's afiection for him ; and he had never for-
 
 224 LOKD falconberg's heir. 
 
 given his imprudence or independence in leaving 
 the Guards. Now he was glad to see Harold, 
 and to welcome him again. Something unusual 
 mingled with the tenderness with which he re- 
 ceived him^ and he seemed to think that the 
 affection — the objects of which he had lost — might 
 well be bestowed upon his old friend Harold. 
 
 Harold Falcon himself could not help being 
 flattered by the kindness of his uncle and Hawke- 
 stone. But Lady Helenas expressions of confi- 
 dence in him were inexpressibly dear to him. 
 She understood him; she saw through all his 
 vanity and extravagance that he was not the 
 selfish being that almost every one must give him 
 credit for being. And as we cling with the 
 greater tenacity to the one remaining support 
 when the rest have betrayed us, so did Harold 
 see in his cousin one connecting link with what 
 he had been, but could scarcely hope to be again. 
 Before leaving this part of our story, I should 
 be glad to leave as good an impression of our 
 hero on the reader's mind as possible. For this 
 purpose it will be necessary to consider his ante- 
 cedents, and compare with them the present con- 
 dition of mind at which he has arrived. 
 
 The law of primogeniture, a remarkable law, 
 which furnishes us with stalwart gentlemen of
 
 THE PRODIGAL EETURNS. 225 
 
 ample means and good report capable of keeping 
 up their state, and improving their tenantry, had 
 borne with a little weight on the Falcon family. 
 The owner of Hawke stone and the title of Falcon - 
 berg had a clear rentroll of about thirty thousand 
 a-year — certainly enough to live upon like a gen- 
 tleman. The younger brothers of this family 
 had, however, been but slenderly provided fur, 
 exce^jting by that beneficent providence which a 
 scandalous world calls jobbery. The father of 
 Harold — General Falcon — and of a numerous off- 
 spring who have nothing to do with this story, 
 was in the army. He had lived a jovial, rollick- 
 ing life at home, riding the family horses to the 
 family hounds, and drinking the family claret 
 and champagne to the health of himself and the 
 rest of the neighbourhood. Once in the army, 
 as the cadet of a fine old Tory family with a vast 
 amount of influence and will to serve the Govern- 
 ment, he was not allowed to want for anything 
 that patronage could give him. And why not ? 
 It had been and still was in the nature of things. 
 But after the general's death, when these good 
 things returned to that villanously-reformed 
 House of Commons, what was to be done with 
 his boys ? There was a dirty little incompetency 
 for each, which served to give them bread and 
 
 VOL. I. 15
 
 226 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 cheese and beer, instead of clear turtle and cliam- 
 pagne, and tlie pleasure of walking for a constitu- 
 tional after a heavy day's work was done, instead 
 of Flint, the keeper, with Falconberg's pointers, 
 or the chestnut mare, and the young Irish horse, 
 to ride through the early part of the day. Harold 
 had enjoyed all this to perfection. There was 
 nothing he couldn't do during his father's life, 
 and nothing he didn't want after his father's 
 death. He had all the tastes of a fast man, all 
 the feeling and instinct of a disappointed one. 
 Thrown into the best society, how was he to keep 
 pace with it. Crockford's and Xewmarket pre- 
 sented the only resources available for a gentle- 
 man. Then came debt, and the means of paying 
 for a certain time was obvious ; so long as his 
 commission was not forestalled, the Jews were 
 merciful. If ever any man had been well treated 
 it was Harold Falcon, but it could not last for 
 ever. Like all gamblers, sometimes he was lucky, 
 sometimes the reverse. A splendid horseman, 
 and a friend of many owners (who by-the-way are 
 very bad judges of their horses' capabilities), 
 Jansen and such men would trust to his pulling oflf 
 a good stake, before the fatal trimcstre was over. 
 A fine, handsome, unquestioning borrower, re- 
 gardless of percentage or the price of money, he
 
 THE PRODIGAL RETURNS. 227 
 
 was a favourite with many^ who would rather 
 hare given him a turn than many a better man. 
 
 With such temptations is it wonderful that he 
 came to grief? His uncle's allowance and his 
 pay would have kept a poor man's son honestly ; 
 it procured for Harold gloves (which were then 
 accustomed to be worn outside of the pockets), an 
 opera stall, a modest hack or two with good knee 
 action, which he kept at livery ; rooms in the Al- 
 bany, the entree at a few good clubs, the best 
 clothes, boots, and cigars in London, with all the 
 other necessaries of existence; to which having 
 been always accustomed, he considered himself 
 still entitled. How he managed to go on so long 
 no one seems to know. The sale of his commis- 
 sion was a mistake ; but Hawkestone, who tried 
 to dissuade him, was powerless. He knew his 
 own necessities best, he said; and his cousin 
 offered him assistance, which he would not accept 
 because he knew it to be useless. Then came 
 his last coup, by which he might have lasted an- 
 other year or two, but which happy device was 
 destroyed by the suicide of poor Lord Cranstone. 
 Then he went abroad. 
 
 So far Harold had been a fool, and worse, he 
 had been a gambler and a row', but there was 
 some good in him yet. He got hold of some
 
 228 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 money, enougli to leave England ; it is not our 
 business liere to ask liow. Jansen was satisfied, 
 so was Harold, but lie didn^t look so. From 
 that moment, liowever, Harold Falcon formed a 
 resolution of amendment from wliich lie never 
 swerved. We must follow him now through 
 other phases of his life ; he has learnt his lesson 
 without any hard teaching, and it may be that 
 something severer would be better for him, per- 
 haps is in store for him. We have but slight 
 experience of his capability to bear the pressure 
 of long overgriping poverty, still less of his forti- 
 tude in unexpected success.
 
 229 
 
 CHAPTER XVin. 
 
 HAWKESTONE CASTLE. 
 
 There are certain parts of the north-western 
 provinces of England which appear to me to com- 
 bine all the beauties of scenery requisite for com- 
 pleting a finished landscape. Wood, water, ver- 
 dant uplands interspersed with the golden grain, 
 are there united in one picture ; while the rich 
 and fertile meads are broken in upon by a wilder 
 scenery, partaking in a measure of the sterner 
 character of the Welsh Principality. 
 
 It was in one of these counties that Hawke- 
 stone Castle was situated. It had long been the 
 property of the Falcon family, who had, indeed, 
 no other seat in England belonging to them. So 
 that the time which was not spent at a favourite 
 shooting-lodge in Aberdeenshire and the London 
 house in Grosvenor-square, was devoted to Hawke- 
 stone. And here was dispensed that princely 
 hospitality so becoming our English nobility, and 
 so far distinguishing them from any other aris-
 
 230 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 tocracy. Here it was that assembled not only the 
 old lord's county friends, the astute politicians 
 or faded courtiers of the Eegency and Carlton 
 House, the old sportsmen who still rode with 
 the Hawkestone, or went in their four-in-hand 
 barouches to the county meetings, but the young 
 Guardsmen and men-about-town, who drank Lord 
 Hawkestone's claret at his club, and indulged in 
 the same Greenwich and Richmond dinners as 
 he and Harold, It was at Hawkestone Castle that, 
 while the elders plotted new Reform Bills, to be 
 given or withheld, who speculated upon the pro- 
 bability of a Wliig or Tory Government, many a 
 match over four miles of fair hunting country, or 
 the last half of the Abingdon mile at Newmarket, 
 was concluded : and while the steady rubber for 
 shillings and fives was going on in the blue 
 drawing-room, the billiard-room was kept alive 
 by a flow of wit, conversation, and high spirits 
 which would have been looked for in vain in any 
 other house in the county. Hawkestone was es- 
 sentially the home of the Falconbergs, and to all 
 the neighbourhood, and to all their friends, it 
 opened its portals in the true charity of a feudal 
 gentleman. If the great were welcomed by the 
 lordly hospitality of its owner, the jjoor man was 
 never allowed to forget one object for which so
 
 HAWKESTONE CASTLE. 231 
 
 many blessings were bestowed upon liis master. 
 
 From one of tbe grandest situations tbat can 
 be conceived in a country like tliis^ where beauty 
 is rather the characteristic of the landscape than 
 its greatness, Hawkestone Castle looked down 
 upon a vale rich in every variety of scenery ; and 
 on to distant hills and wooded promontories, 
 each of which served for an especial landmark in 
 their several counties or neighbourhoods. Some 
 portion of no less than seven different counties 
 were said to be seen from the Castle terrace ; and 
 the whole prospect, on one side at least, was en- 
 hanced by the broad and rapid river, which lost 
 itself miles and miles from the Castle, after wan- 
 derino; as a silver cord through its banks: here 
 gently sloping to meet the current, and there 
 boldly defying it with massive rocks and steep or 
 rugged sides; while it appeared like a chain 
 which linked the whole together, and formed a 
 bond of union and beauty almost as much in fact 
 as in idea. Where many a stream has, like the 
 Rubicon or the Rhine, separated interests and 
 prompted strife, the noble stream, which was seen 
 for miles from Hawkestone, was a by-word of love 
 and strength between those who dwelt upon its 
 banks. 
 
 The immediate neighbourhood of the Castle is
 
 232 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 worthy a closer description. The building itself 
 was so far remarkable that that part of it which 
 was inhabited was no more a castle than Buck- 
 ingham Palace. It was a very large^ massive, 
 cheerful-looking structure, which had been built 
 of a grey stone in the reign of Charles, or more 
 strictly speaking, during the Commonwealth, 
 the previous building having been burnt during 
 the Civil War. There remained, however, a cer- 
 tain portion of the old building, a magnificent 
 tower and facade, to which the more modern 
 portion had been added; thus securing to the 
 present edifice the name which it had borne since 
 the days of William II., in whose reign it was 
 built. On three sides it was surrounded by a 
 magnificent terrace, in the centre of which were 
 fountains and basins, with a succession of closely- 
 kept lawns and beautiful flower-beds, rich during 
 the summer with every colour that science or 
 wealth could devise and procure. The third side 
 was devoted to the offices, forming a large and 
 imposing quadrangle, of which three sides were 
 stables, approached by lofty gateways on either 
 side, on which were the old badges and coats of 
 arms of the worthy and eai-liest warriors of the 
 family. Descending from the terrace, in itself a 
 long promenade extending round three sides of
 
 HAWKESTONE CASTLE. 233 
 
 the Castle, by succeeding steps and terraces, on 
 the pedestals of which appeared again colossal 
 statues of the favourite emblem — a falcon with 
 outstretched wings and golden claws — the ex- 
 plorer came upon an abrupt hill or knoll, leading 
 to the river's side, through shrubberies and walks 
 planted throughout with rhododendrons, azalias, 
 and other American shrubs ; while here and there 
 rare and valuable pines and foreign firs served to 
 enrich the beauty and prodigality of nature. On 
 the right stretched the park, on the near side of 
 the river, undulating soberly, and interspersed 
 with occasional patches of wild heather ; while on 
 the other side, woods ' in gay theatric pride ' 
 came down to the very edge of the stream, as- 
 cending higher and higher as they retreated from 
 the banks, until they rose, in places, almost to a 
 corresponding height with the Castle. 
 
 It was here that Lord Falconberg had his 
 hattues. Here he bred innumerable pheasants, 
 among the gnarled oaks which twisted their giant 
 limbs on either side of the river. Here too the 
 vixen laid up her cubs in the dry sandy soil, and 
 brought them down in the spring and early sum- 
 mer to drink ; until in the morning, when the 
 heavy dew was still upon the grass, the young 
 hounds were thrown in to learn their lesson, and
 
 234 LORD falconbeeg's heir. 
 
 to move t]ie foxes destined for the winter's sport. 
 In tliese covers was tlie flight of the woodcock 
 stayed^ and many a couple in December rewarded 
 Lord Hawkestone and his friends for the trouble 
 of a walk throug'h the tano^led briars and bram- 
 bles of the Hawkestone covers : which^ indeed, 
 reminds me that I may have an opportunity of 
 correcting some mistaken notions on the subject 
 of battue and cover shooting, which appear to 
 belong mainly to those who can have no expe- 
 rience of its virtues, necessities, or difficulty. 
 Here, too, beneath these woods reposed the silvery 
 salmon in its pool, a rare victim to the skill and 
 perseverance of Harold Falcon, when, as a boy, 
 he preferred the society of the old keeper, with 
 his rich store of anecdote and sport, to the more 
 sober realities of book-learning. The browsing- 
 deer and the lordly stags that grazed over the 
 open pasture, or stood at gaze beneath the mould- 
 ering branches of the decaying oak, gave a finish 
 to the whole scene, which was one scarcely to be 
 equalled. Such was the hereditary property of 
 the Falcons. 
 
 The house, in its way, was as beautiful as the 
 park and grounds. The very colour of the stone 
 gave a massive warmth to it, which, while it im- 
 paired none of its original grandeur, added to it
 
 HAWKESTONE CASTLE. 235 
 
 that sentiment of liome in wliicli so many of our 
 finest residences are deficient. Some are like 
 barracks, some like infirmaries, some like ogres' 
 castles, and some so overloaded with ornament, 
 or so subdued with stained glass, mullions, fretted 
 roofs, and ecclesiastical gloom, as to make sun- 
 shine almost an impossibility, and dancing an im- 
 propriety, if not something worse. There was 
 nothing like this in the Castle. It was ample 
 enough for anything. There were huge reception 
 rooms, which might accommodate the county; 
 there were fine airy passages and open corridors 
 and spaces all over the house. The hall upon 
 which we entered was lofty and noble in its pro- 
 portions ; but was warm and cheerful in winter, 
 with the dogs at either end, which supported the 
 crackling logs of pine and elm ; and light and 
 cool in summer, with its open windows and bright 
 prospects. From its sides sprung the arches 
 which led into the sitting-rooms on either side ; 
 and in the centre was the magnificent staircase, 
 not kept in lavender for the reception of lord- 
 lieutenants, peers, county magnates, or metro- 
 politan grandees, but in ordinary use for the 
 members of Lord Falconberg's family and the 
 guests they entertained habitually. 
 
 And in former times, when some old lord was
 
 236 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 a younger man^ a very jovial^ rollicking set those 
 guests were^ requiring a good broad staircase to 
 go up and down, and a house in whicli the noise in 
 the dining-room need not be heard by the countess 
 in the drawing-room. Such things had been in 
 generations gone by; but we write of a day 
 when, if vice is as rampant, it is at least more 
 rej&ned, perhaps more insidious. 
 
 The rooms were hung with fine old portraits 
 of the Falcons. Warriors — apocryphal gentlemen, 
 who must have been indebted to imagination for 
 their existence in oil or on canvas, thougch the 
 scrolls of their fame existed in the Hawkestone 
 archives. Statesmen and men of learning, gov- 
 ernors of colonies, soldiers, sailors, and fine gen- 
 tlemen, were ranged around the rooms, inter- 
 spersed with charming portraits of sportsmen of 
 the last age, with hound and horn, which latter, 
 as there represented, required but little winding 
 beyond what the artist had given it. There 
 were two courtiers, as we have said, and country 
 gentlemen of the Sir Eoger de Coverley school, 
 who had found the size of the rooms and the 
 width of the staircases more than convenient.
 
 237 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 AFTER A LONG INTERVAL. 
 
 It wanted about an hour or two to dinner at 
 the Castle, and two persons, old acquaintances of 
 the reader, were sauntering leisurely, as it ap- 
 peared, towards the house. Not so leisurely in 
 mind as in body. Actively, indeed, in that re- 
 spect, were they both engaged, as they came 
 slowly on by the river's bank towards the steep 
 hill-side, which led to the steps of the terrace. 
 
 ' And you think my father much altered, Ha- 
 rold ? ' said Lady Helen, as she waited a moment, 
 while Harold Falcon threw once more among 
 some dark stones, in the hope of a rise, before 
 getting his tackle together. 
 
 ' I do, very much. He seemed two or three 
 years ago to have almost recovered his spirits 
 after the death of those poor boys in Switzerland ; 
 but latterly he looks worse than I have ever seen 
 him. What is it, Helen?'
 
 238 LOED falconberg's heir. 
 
 ' You have noticed notliing yourself in any- 
 way V said she, shading her eyes with her hand, 
 as the sun was getting lower in the west, and 
 looking at her cousin with a searching glance. 
 
 ' Nothing, calculated to give him fresh un- 
 easiness. There can be nothing in his affairs ; 
 for though he has always kept a liberal and al- 
 most extravagant house, my uncle has such a 
 property as to justify any state he may choose to 
 live in. And as to Hawkestone,^ — and here Lady 
 Helen took a more serious and rigid investiga- 
 tion of Harold^ s face. 
 
 'Well, Harold, what of Hawkestone V 
 
 ' I don^t believe he ever gave Lord Falcon- 
 berg a mementos uneasiness in his life. I wish 
 to goodness I could say the same.' 
 
 ' And you regret it, Harold, I'm sure. He 
 was hurt at your leaving the Guards without con- 
 sulting him, and at some other little matters. 
 But it's so long ago, and circumstances have so 
 altered — I think you would like to do him a fa- 
 vour if you could.' And Lady Helen's voice 
 faltered strangely when she got as far as this ; 
 which it need not have done, seeing that they 
 were not only cousins, but had been much to- 
 gether all their lives. 
 
 ' I don't suppose you doubt it, Helen ; but it
 
 AFTER A LONG INTERVAL. 239 
 
 sounds like the fable of the Lion and the Mouse ; 
 that net always struck me as being a very ex- 
 ceptional case, indeed/ 
 
 ' He talks a great deal about you, when you 
 are away ; and yesterday he told me that he 
 should like to have you down here constantly. 
 And, in fact, Harold,^ — and Lady Helen spoke 
 with some little hesitation, — ' papa asked me to 
 mention it to you, and see whether there was any 
 prospect — ' 
 
 Harold Falcon never raised his eyes to the 
 beautiful face by his side, but said — not in the 
 calm quiet tone in which he usually spoke, but in 
 a rather quick, unsettled voice — ' Constantly ? No, 
 no, he didn't mean constantly. He forgets too, 
 Helen,' — and here he gave a little laugh, some- 
 what forced, — ' that since our great-aunt's death 
 I am a landed-proprietor.' 
 
 ' So I told him.' Here Harold looked at his 
 cousin curiously, as if he would know the exact 
 meaning of these words. But Lady Helen did 
 not flinch. ' So I told him,' said she ; ' but he 
 said you could easily let the place you have, that 
 it wasn't worth half a year's income of Hawke- 
 stone, and that it was better for you to be here.' 
 Lady Helen said all this quite mechanically, and 
 gave Harold no sort of idea that she herself was
 
 240 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 interested in liis movements^ eitlier one way or 
 tlie other. 
 
 ' Have you any notion that my uncle has a 
 particular reason for such a wish ? ' Helen blushed 
 deeply^ though Harold did not see her ; for their 
 thoughts had wandered into different channels; 
 as young men^s and maidens' will when the con- 
 fidence between them can be but partial. At 
 length she said, ' Yes ; he wants you to take the 
 active management of the hounds.' 
 
 ' But there's Hawkestone. Surely he's as 
 good for the purpose as I.' 
 
 '^ And the covers : Hawkestone cares less about 
 that than hunting.' 
 
 'Well, I can do that without living entirely 
 at the Castle. You'd soon get tired of me, Helen.' 
 
 ' I hope, Harold, you've never had reason to 
 think so.' 
 
 'Never. But make Hawkestone marry, and 
 bring his wife to the Castle, and then your father 
 will not want me to take his place. And then 
 I'll come and be your guest as usual, for as long 
 and as often as you like.' 
 
 ' Perhaps Lord Falconberg can persuade you ; 
 I can't.' 
 
 At that moment, at a little distance in front 
 of them, they came upon Lord Hawkestone.
 
 AFTER A LONG INTERVAL. 241 
 
 For the first time in his life Harold Falcon 
 imagined that he saw a difference in his cousin. 
 It might be fancy, but he thought those broad, 
 flat shoulders were somewhat narrowed and bent, 
 and that the light active step was wanting in 
 that firm but elastic tread, which he had so often 
 admired as the Guardsman walked down St 
 James's-street to go on guard or to attend a 
 drawing-room or a levee. Was it only a listless- 
 ness which an idle country life is apt to engender, 
 and which had been put on when he laid aside 
 his bearskin, and retunied to his home, to cheer 
 his father, and participate in his sports, which 
 he had done as soon as he could, after the terri- 
 ble catastrophe which bereft the house of three 
 loved children at once — leaving himself and Lady 
 Helen to supply the affectionate care and honest 
 gaiety, to which Lord Falconberg had been ac- 
 customed from his younger children ? or was it 
 really his own want of consideration for other peo- 
 ple had blinded him to the fact that Hawkestone's 
 health was not what it had been, and that the 
 change of life from the jovial society of his regi- 
 ment, and a town life, had truly wrought the in- 
 difference which he fancied he perceived in his 
 cousin's gait, as he moved slowly up the hill 
 before them ? 
 
 VOL. I. 16
 
 242 LOED falconberg's heir. 
 
 I don't know whether my readers have ever 
 notice dj as I have done, the extraordinary ex- 
 pression which is given to momentary character, 
 impulse, or feeling, by the turn of a shoulder, or 
 the limbs. Not of course to the extent of the 
 countenance in depicting permanent sentiment ; 
 but so very strongly in those cursory move- 
 ments of the mind with which a man may be 
 affected by temporary anxiety, pleasure, fear, de- 
 termination, or ill-health. If not, let me recom- 
 mend to them a study of a well-known picture, 
 the original of which is to be seen in the Duke 
 d'Aumale's house at Twickenham. Lg duel a^res 
 le hal has exactly this point most strongly illus- 
 trated in the back of the successful duellist, a 
 North American Indian, who is being urged from 
 the ground by his second, dressed as a harlequin, 
 while his victim lies in the very grasp of death, 
 surrounded by his friends. The involuntaiy 
 struggle to look back, if not to stay, or return to 
 ask forgiveness and to close the eye^ which are 
 manifestly losing all consciousness of surround- 
 ing objects, notwithstanding the necessity for 
 immediate flight, is manifested with marvellous 
 power by M. Gerome, the painter of a picture, 
 one of the most powerful creations of the day. 
 
 Now it was just this idea that was presenting
 
 AFTER A LONG INTERVAL. 243 
 
 itself to Harold -wheii he saw notliing but his 
 cousin's figure, as he passed from their sight 
 round the last zig-zag that led to the terrace : he 
 saw nothing of the face, no paleness, no weari- 
 ness, no dejection, but that strange, unmistak- 
 able drag of the limbs, which, when not the effect 
 of prolonged bodily exertion, is an invariable ac- 
 companiment of impaired health. 
 
 Harold's first impulse was to point it out to 
 Lady Helen. His second to watch his cousin 
 for the next week or two, and see whether there 
 seemed to be any reason for his fears — fears 
 which he knew he should rather allay than excite, 
 unless some real mischief existed, which ought to 
 be repelled. Helen was the last pei-son in the 
 world that he would like to pain ; and he knew 
 well how quietly but how sincerely she would feel 
 for herself and her father, should such suspicions, 
 founded or unfounded, be excited. Harold Fal- 
 con knew little of her thoughts at that moment, 
 or he would scarcely hav^e waited till they reached 
 the terrace to express them. 
 
 When they arrived at the second terrace, 
 which was still another flight of long steps from 
 the plateau on which the Castle stood, they found 
 Hawkestone standing at the western angle, look- 
 ing over the beautiful scene of wood and water.
 
 244 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 and SO unobservant of everytliing else^ that they 
 came upon him almost unperceived. It was im- 
 possible not to notice the soft melancholy which 
 pervaded his fine face as he looked over the vale 
 and watched the sun going down behind the 
 woodlandsj now clothed in all the beauty of their 
 autumnal dress. It was equally impossible not 
 to see the forced smile with which he greeted 
 them, and made a remark upon the exquisite 
 scenery which had evidently affected him so pain- 
 fully. 
 
 Lady Helen grasped her cousin's arm, and 
 looked intelligently at him, while she spoke cheer- 
 fully enough, 
 
 ' I thought you were out shooting, Hawke- 
 stone, with the duke and Mr Millbank.' 
 
 ' No; I changed my mind. I sent Cartridge 
 with them to show them the best beat ; but I 
 had a little headache. By-the-way, Harold, you 
 might have gone, only the duke doesn't like 
 shooting with more than two besides himself, and 
 I really meant going.' 
 
 ' Quite right too — that's one too many. I'll be 
 hanged if I think we shall ever have such fun 
 again as you and I used to have with Cartridge, 
 in the holidays, when we came home from Eton. 
 My poor father always said you spoilt me for any
 
 AFTER A LONG INTERVAL. 245 
 
 good I should do afterwards, unless I meant to — ' 
 and here Harold pulled up suddenly as if the re- 
 collection of his father's opinion was not calcu- 
 lated to give universal satisfaction to his cousins. 
 They saw his embarrassment and held their 
 tongues. 
 
 ' Done anything, Harold, besides catching 
 these trout which I see in Helen's basket ? There 
 are some good ones among them, nearly a pound 
 weight I should think ; ' and he looked into the 
 fishing basket which Lady Helen had just taken 
 up by the strap. 
 
 ' Yes ; I went out schooling on the new horse 
 for my uncle. He'll make a magnificent hunter 
 by the end of the cubbing season, if you think 
 he'll be quiet enough for him. If not, you'd bet- 
 ter take him yourself; ' but instead of replying as 
 he once would have done, he smiled good-hu- 
 mouredly but faintly, and turned round towards 
 the house. 
 
 ' We'd better walk on,' said Lady Helen, ' it 
 begins to be chilly, and not very far from dinner- 
 time ; the dressing-bell will ring by the time we 
 reach the Castle.' And here Lady Helen walked 
 ofi" at a brisk pace, followed by Lord Hawkestonc 
 and Harold. 
 
 Her ladyship reached the plateau on which
 
 246 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 the house stood considerably in advance of the 
 two gentlemen. They seemed in no great hurry ; 
 whichj when we take into consideration the rela- 
 tive difference in time destined to toilette, between 
 ladies and gentlemen, may not be surprising. 
 Yet it could scarcely be so, for she lingered at the 
 door by which they were about to enter. 
 
 Lord Hawkestone went off to one of the win- 
 dows, by which he entered ; Harold joined his 
 cousin. 
 
 ' Now, Harold, tell me do you notice anything 
 in Hawkestone, or is it fancy on my part ? ' Harold 
 had noticed already that he was lacking in tone, 
 vigour, elasticity — in fact that five or six years 
 had done the work of many, and just now he had 
 fancied something more. Harold did not think 
 so much of the difficulty of breathing which he 
 had observed, as of Hawkestone^s anxiety to con- 
 ceal it. 
 
 ' Country life, and absence of excitement. He 
 doesn't look quite so strong as usual ; but I see 
 nothing to be alarmed at.' 
 
 ' But don't you see that he cares so little about 
 his usual occupations ? he scarcely ever shoots, 
 and exercise seems altogether distasteful to him.' 
 
 ' Does my uncle think as you do, Helen ? ' 
 
 ' I hardly know, but of course he would be
 
 AFTER A LONG INTERVAL. 247 
 
 less quick to notice it tlian I. And Hawkestone 
 dislikes so mucli any allusion to his health.' 
 
 ' Then don't tease him about it, Helen, and I'll 
 take an opportunity of observing him more 
 closely.' 
 
 ' And what am I to tell papa ? ' said she as 
 she stopped on the landing-place before she turned 
 off to go to her own room. 
 
 ' That I'm not going yet for some time ; and 
 that — well, I'll stay as long as I can be of use to 
 him ; ' and he turned off the other way. There was 
 just daylight left for them to dress for dinner. 
 
 The party was large, but not brilliant. The 
 Duke of Poictiers, an honest, sensible, popular 
 man ; a first-rate sportsman, a great judge of a 
 horse, and — rarer still — of a hound ; chai-itable, 
 honourable, and agood husbandand father — which 
 are not great virtues for a man with a hundred 
 thousand a-year, a charming wife, and a very 
 handsome family ; but not a wit. The duchess, 
 middle-aged, very handsome, irreproachable in 
 temper, character, and toilette. Lady Diana 
 Belleville, their eldest daughter, in whose beauti- 
 ful face that mixture of Saxon and Norman blood 
 produced the best traits of both, large gray eyes, 
 dark lashes and brows, standing out against the 
 clear transparent skin and blue veins, with her
 
 248 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 straight well-formed features, and beautifullj- 
 shaped head. There were fine old country 
 baronets and gentlemen, who supported the 
 ducal interest on all occasions, talked poor- 
 laws, turnpike-trusts, and turnips. As these 
 subjects were uninteresting to Hawkestone's old 
 friends and brother-officers, they made play with 
 the baronets' and country-gentlemen's daughters, 
 who were curious on the matter of the county- 
 ball, the race-meeting, and the on dits to which 
 the last season had given rise. 
 
 They were a good average set, in a large coun- 
 try-house, and all felt happy that Bitters was left 
 behind somewhere. They could well forego the 
 wit which made at least one person at table un- 
 comfortable. They did not miss the astounding 
 intellect of Ilighlow, who was quite regardless of 
 the time or place in which he fired off his politi- 
 cal epigrams, or the repartee of Barkei', who, if he 
 was not able to quarrel with somebody, managed 
 invariably to set two others by the ears. There 
 was no astonishing lion to monopolize the con- 
 versation j and if the duke was listened to with 
 deference, it was certainly not because he roared 
 louder than the rest of the company. 
 
 When Harold Falcon went to his room that 
 night some serious considerations befell him, and
 
 AFTER A LONG INTERVAL. 249 
 
 amongst all of them liis cousin Lord Hawkestone 
 stood prominently forward. Was he as ill as 
 Lady Helen evidently thought him ? He hoped 
 not, he thought not, but he would ascertain. Aiid 
 Lady Helen herself ? was it possible to know her 
 as he did and live with her, sharing all her anx- 
 ieties and cares for those they mutually loved, 
 and not to love her ? Was there anything so cal- 
 culated to strengthen a bond which he rather 
 desired to weaken ; which he sought to break — 
 and why ? And when he came to this point in his 
 considerations, he was staring vacantly into the 
 once clear bright fire which had become necessary 
 with the chill autumn nights, but which was dy- 
 ing out rapidly now. Ah, that why ? was his 
 secret; would there come a day when it could be 
 revealed ? 
 
 Of himself it was impossible not to think in 
 connection with these subjects. How well he 
 remembered the time when the possession of such 
 a title and property would have saved him from 
 apparent ruin, and might have been welcomed 
 even at the sacrifice of such a cousin as Hawke- 
 stone. Yet, scarcely that ; and now that he knew 
 him so well, and how dear he was to his uncle 
 and Helen, how gladly would he forego the possi- 
 bility of such advantages to save them from a
 
 250 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 moment^«! pain. How changed, kow modified 
 must all his feelings be ! 
 
 And so they were. The truth was, that if 
 Hawkestone Castle ever had been a prize worth 
 sighing for, it had ceased to be so now. Harold 
 cared nothing at all about it. Circumstances had 
 happened in his short life which made him indif- 
 ferent to the considerations which urge most men, 
 and should to some extent move all. His wishes 
 seemed now to be bounded by very moderate 
 wealth — wishes which had once sacrificed an 
 honourable position, and the esteem of others, as 
 well as of himself, to their attainment — wishes 
 which had given him sleepless nights and harass- 
 ing days, and had ended in disgrace and ruin, but 
 for an escape on which he dreaded to dwell. 
 
 Should he stay at the Castle if his cousin^s 
 
 health was deranged ? Could he help his uncle 
 
 by doing so, without compromising himself or 
 
 Lady Helen ? Harold was not a vain person, and 
 
 he scarcely could come to a conclusion that his 
 
 cousin would fall in love with him, without — well, 
 
 modest reserve forbids the conclusion of that 
 
 sentence, and his case was past praying for. He 
 
 felt a wound, not ' as deep as a well, nor as wide 
 
 * 
 as a church-door,' but it would do. He did love 
 
 Lady Helen. Would to God he could tell her so.
 
 251 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 A COUNTRY-HOUSE IN SEASON. 
 
 And Lady Helen lierself, how did slie feel it ? 
 Wellj tliat evening not at all. Harold liad taken 
 himself off from the billiard-room, or the smok- 
 ing-room, under the plea of getting up at six 
 a.m. on the following morning to go out cub- 
 hunting. Lady Helen having no hounds to look 
 after, nor any valid excuse for early rising, 
 excepting virtue and health, was caught by the 
 duchess and Lady Di, and Fanny Millbank, and 
 Miss Montressor, to arrange the details of an 
 excursion to see a robber's cave at some distance 
 from them. The cave was only eighty feet from 
 the ground on the flat surface of red sandstone, 
 and the robber was said to have jumped in or out, 
 I don't know which ; but there were the marks 
 on the red sandstone where his horse had alighted. 
 The duchess went early, as pattern duchesses 
 should do, to her own room, not certainly to see 
 the duke, who was playing whist in the smoking-
 
 252 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 room ; but slie left all tlie rest, wlio continued to 
 tease Lady Helen about the horse they should 
 ride, or which of the men should be told off to 
 drive them, whenever the day of excursion should 
 come. As Lady Helen said afterwards, from the 
 length of time it took to settle, it might have been 
 WordswortVs Excursion itself. At last all went 
 but Lady Diana, that handsome girl, with her 
 half-Norman, half- Saxon face^ and she would stop 
 behind. 
 
 To say that Lady Diana Belleville was in love 
 with Lord Hawkestone was to say what was not 
 true. Still the gossips would say so. 
 
 ^Well, and when's the young lord a-go- 
 ing to fetch his bride home, my lady ? ' said old 
 Mrs Twoshoes, a privileged pensioner of Lady 
 Helen's. 
 
 ' Where should he fetch her from, Mrs Two- 
 shoes ? ' inquires Lady Helen. 
 
 ' Ay : but you'll know better than us old 
 souls. Isn't it Lady Diana ? Betty Gray tells me 
 she's up at the Castle now.' 
 
 *■ That's rather as if she were coming to fetch 
 him, granny,' replies Lady Helen, laughing at 
 the conceit, which might have a little more truth 
 in it than the other. 
 
 ^Look, Mary, look, there's the duchess of
 
 A COUNTRY-HOUSE IN SEASON. 253 
 
 Poictiers, and Lady Diana Belleville, and there's 
 Lord Hawkestone with his back to the horses,' 
 shouts Miss Giggle, the bookseller's daughter at 
 Silverford, a small town half-way between Hawke- 
 stone and the duke's residence, to her youngest 
 sister : and the two rush to the front, as the 
 carriage drives rapidly by to the delight of all the 
 young women in the town. 'Why don't he sit 
 beside her ? ' says Mary, one of ' Nature's simple 
 children.' ' I'm sure I should sit side beside him 
 if I'd got a sweetheart.' 
 
 ' Lor ! stupid, don't you know that the gentle- 
 men always sit with their backs to the horses ? ' 
 
 ' Well, then, why can't she sit with her back 
 to the horses too ? I'm sure she can't care much 
 about him ; ' saying which Miss Mary retired to 
 her work once more. 
 
 The great world didn't talk quite so openly 
 about it, although London society sometimes 
 wondered when it was to be. The Mole, a news- 
 paper supposed to be wonderfully informed by 
 some tout on the confines of society, had hinted at 
 such a thing ; and to this day the editor doesn't 
 know how very narrowly he had escaped a horse- 
 whipping. But there was, it must be admitted, a 
 tacit understanding among the Ladies Harriet 
 and Jane, and the Misses Montressor and the
 
 254: LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 Fanny Millbanks of the world^ comprising 
 scarcely the ten thousand that the litterateurs 
 are so fond of talking about^ that when Lady Di 
 did not fall to Lord Hawkestone's share by right, 
 she generally found herself in his neighbourhood 
 by tacit permission of the rest. 
 
 The families too were very intimate. Separated 
 by only fourteen miles of pretty good road_, of the 
 same rank and wealth, enjoying the same pur- 
 suits, and with families growing up or grown up, it 
 was the most natural thing in the world that their 
 visits should be frequent. The duke loved hunt- 
 ing, better even than racing, and had taken the 
 
 hounds in a wonderful dilemma in the 
 
 countiy, Avhere all the great men in England 
 hunted, and had forgotten to pay for even the 
 covers, so absorbed were they in the main busi- 
 ness for which they all came to . It must 
 
 not be supposed that it was for lack of money, for 
 as soon as the duke had relieved them of their 
 fears, and the previous manager of his responsi- 
 bilities, they came down in greater force and 
 form than usual. He only gave it up and came 
 back to Silverthorn — such was the name of his 
 place ; where they cursed his hounds because they 
 (the hounds) wanted to hunt, and his huntsman 
 because he wanted to let them, and His Grace
 
 A COUNTRY-HOUSE IN SEASON. 255 
 
 because lie wouldn't go forward to a liallo two 
 miles off before lie had killed tlie fox lie had 
 brought ten miles with him to what they called 
 that d — d forest. Being a fashionable country it 
 was soon taken by a racing banker, who had just 
 retired with a good fortune and plenty of ready- 
 money ; and who, not finding the turf a letter of 
 introduction to the ladies of the haute volee, deter- 
 mined upon trying the national sport, irrespective 
 of expense, trouble, or abuse. In the language 
 of a well-known turfite at Newmarket, Mr Flash 
 having failed with Warren was going to try 
 Hunt. 
 
 Since that time the Duke of Poictiers had 
 passed his winter chiefly at his own place, and was 
 a constant attendant on the Hawkestone pack. 
 One of their best meets was on the duke's pro- 
 perty, and the hounds were never at Silverthorn 
 without a large party in the house to meet Lord 
 Falconberg and his family. They shot together 
 in the season on their return from Scotland, and 
 when the covers of either were to be beaten, they 
 were always to be found among the guests at the 
 house of cither. Above all things, they were both 
 of them what they called old-fashioned Whigs; 
 a bond of union which always seems to smell 
 of Charles Fox, but without one of the cha-
 
 256 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 racteristics of tliat erratic statesman, but his hon- 
 hommie and his good taste for a dinner. 
 
 The party, of which the duke and duchess had 
 formed a part, had gone to fresh pastures. Others 
 had come in their place. There had been more 
 partridge- shooting, more fishing, and a day or 
 two^s cub-hunting, which had quite repaid even 
 Captain Prestowe for the trouble of turning out a 
 little earlier than at Melton. Harold was still 
 there ; and though he had kept watch and ward, 
 with the hope of disabusing Helenas mind of her 
 preconceived notions, and of comforting the old 
 peer, who, it was evident, shared them, he had as 
 yet detected nothing in Lord Hawkestone, no- 
 thing more than a little delicacy, which might be 
 the effect of changed habits or ordinary causes. 
 The season had not stood still, and though the sun 
 shone brightly into Harold's windows, the begin- 
 ning of October was at hand. 
 
 ^Hawkestone,' said Harold Falcon, bursting 
 into his cousin's room on the morning in question 
 about eight o'clock, ' are you coming over to the 
 pheasant covers. The hounds are to be there at 
 nine this morning, and I heard my uncle go 
 down ten minutes ago ; he knocked at my door.' 
 Hawkestone was still in bed, but awake, and an- 
 swered, 'What's o'clock, Harold,' at the same
 
 A COUNTRY-HOUSE IN SEASON. 257 
 
 time ringing his bell. ' Eight ! I felt so tired I 
 thought it could scarcely be time to get up yet. 
 Pull the blinds up, that's a good fellow.' 
 
 ' Do you sleep with your window open ? 
 Your room feels cold.' 
 
 * Cold ! Ko ; I don't know that the window's 
 open ; and I don't feel cold. On the contrary, I 
 pers^iire so much at night that I wish there was 
 no fire in the room.' And Lord Hawkestone's 
 valet came in and began to prepare his room. 
 Harold Falcon went out, saying, 
 
 'We'll keep the breakfast, as Helen's going 
 to ride, and won't be down till the last moment, 
 I daresay.' 
 
 A handsome bridge ran from the one side of 
 the park to the other, where the hounds were to 
 meet ; so that the distance from the house to the 
 covers they were going to draw was scarcely a 
 mile. There was no necessity for hurrying. The 
 meet was likely to be a family party, as they did 
 not profess to begin till the first of November in 
 the open. Half-a-dozen farmers, who wanted to 
 school their horses, might join them, in fact were 
 sure to do so; as many county gentlemen in 
 shooting jackets (their sons were once more at 
 Eton and Harrow) would come out to have a look 
 at the master and his young entries, and to get
 
 258 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 some condition into tlie old horse^ or to try the 
 new one. There would be no scarlet, except in 
 the servants ; and the whole afifair would be one 
 of business — to teach hounds and rattle the foxes, 
 with the chance of a run, if it happened to fall in 
 their way. 
 
 ' Ah, Helen, this is charming,' said Lord 
 Falconberg, coming in to find his daughter 
 already drest and at the top of the table, with 
 Harold and half-a-dozen men making the most 
 of their time. 
 
 ' Miss Linton and Lady Fanny, the pony-car- 
 riage is ordered for you, as you intend riding to 
 Silverford in the afternoon.' 
 
 ' Why were we not allowed to ride with Helen, 
 Mr Falcon ? ' demanded one of the young ladies. 
 
 'Because your brother assures me that your 
 mare always runs away with hounds : and as he's 
 not here — ' 
 
 ' That's really too bad of Frank,' said Lady 
 Fanny Carysfort : ' he was short of horses last 
 year himself, and I lent her to him to finish the 
 season ; and his hands are so bad that she is in- 
 clined to rush at her fences. As to pulling, a 
 child might ride her.' 
 
 'I've no doubt of it,' said Colonel Snaflfles 
 tauntingly : ' and as we shall be out again only
 
 A COUNTRY-HOUSE IX SEASON. 259 
 
 five miles off at the end of the week, you shall 
 ride her in spite of Carysfort, who is, as yoa say, 
 a very bad horseman/ Here there was a little 
 good-humoured laughter, as Lady Fanny was not 
 disposed to allow any one to abuse her brother but 
 herself. 
 
 ' I don't say that. Colonel Snaffles : I only say 
 it takes two to make a puller, and Frank^s hands 
 are not quite so good as — well, whose shall I 
 say — ? ' Harold looked up at the piquante pretty 
 little lady, who continued, ' Oh, I wasn't going to 
 say yours, Mr Falcon ; though I daresay you 
 think that's bad judgment on my part ; I meant 
 to say Lord Hawkestone's.' 
 
 ' Then here he is to acknowledge the compli- 
 ment,' as the door opened and he entered the 
 breakfast-room. 
 
 LordHawkestone looked, as all well-made, gen- 
 tlemanly-looking men do, better in leathers and 
 tops than in any other dress. Not that I for my 
 part underrate the value of a straight well-cut 
 pair of trowsers, Hammond's or Story's ; far from 
 it. But from head to foot, a well-dressed horse- 
 man, who knows how to put on his clothes (for 
 that's a very essential part of the business), is a 
 sight better worth looking at than the best 
 lounger that ever woke the flaers of Bond-
 
 260 LORD FALCONBERG S HEIR. 
 
 street or St James's witli his Hoby's. If lie lias 
 a leg tliat will hang from a saddle like the late 
 James Mason, or the huntsman of Her Majesty's 
 buckhounds, with the knack of making his boots 
 meet his breeches in the same way, I should ad- 
 vise his following the example of Lord Falcon- 
 berg, and wearing nothing else, until evening 
 compels him to change them. It is difficult to 
 get up a morning leg and an evening leg, for 
 they are as different as the late Lord Petersham's 
 snuffs ; but if I must choose between the two, I 
 take my stand on the morning leg. Calves, be 
 it spoken with reverence, are vulgar. 
 
 Mr K — y, one of our best comic actors, was 
 the occupant of a foreign railway carriage with a 
 lady and her son. He slept well and soundly to 
 all appearance the greater part of the journey. 
 On some unexpected stoppage, the young gentle- 
 man, anxious to improve all opportunities of ob- 
 servation, remarked aloud — loud enough indeed 
 to disturb the sleeper — ' Ma, they're putting on 
 calves behind.' 
 
 * There are a great many people' said Mr 
 K — J, with great gravity, ' who would be glad to 
 do the same ; ' and went to sleep again. I am not 
 one of those. 
 
 ' Now, ladies,' said Harold, ' shall I ring the
 
 A COUNTRY-HOUSE IN SEASON. 261 
 
 bell for your carriage ? You know the road. Miss 
 Linton, after you get over the bridge ? The 
 hounds meet at the lower side of the cover, and 
 we shall draw up wind. And Lady Fanny, I'm 
 sure you'll not be angry if I remind you that 
 foxes have very quick ears, and don't like con- 
 versation.' 
 
 In a few minutes more they were all gone. 
 
 Nothing could be more beautiful than the 
 morning. 
 
 ' Too gaudy for scent, I'm thinking, my 
 lord,' said Farmer Harrowgate, touching his 
 hat to Lord Falconberg, ' and a little east in the 
 wind ; but there's been plenty o' rain lately, so 
 that it ain't ver}^ dry. Don't see none o' them 
 nasty cobwebs about neither.' 
 
 ' I don't dislike a touch of east, Harrowgate ; 
 you'll be glad to see Fearless again, he's grown 
 into a very handsome hound, and the best of that 
 litter: they're all very good too. Lord Hawkestone 
 likes them much.' 
 
 ^ Ah, my lord seems to take kindly to it. I 
 never thought he'd like the trouble so much as 
 you did. Always rode tremenjous too — him and 
 Mr Harold, ever since they was boys. 
 
 Then to each of his old tenants, as they came 
 up, Lord Falconberg had a kind word or two to
 
 262 LORD FALCONBERG S HEIR. 
 
 say ; and tliougli the old peer liad aged wonder- 
 fully in tlie last four or five years, in fact since 
 the death of his children, still on horseback the 
 change was less perceptible than elsewhere. His 
 thin limbs clad in thick and loose buckskins, 
 beautifully made and cleaned ; his straight, well- 
 cut top-boots, and the loose, strong black coat, 
 with its broad skirts and outside pockets, rather 
 concealed the stoop which was growing upon 
 him ; and his handsome aristocratic face and gray 
 hair, almost white indeed, looked fresh-coloured 
 and bright in the morning air. His beautiful seat 
 showed well on a fine short-legged but thorough- 
 bred horse, whose head was so placed that the old 
 sportsman appeared to be playing with him, so 
 craftily was he restrained by the light but firm 
 hand that kept giving and taking as he pulled 
 first on one side of his bit and then on the other. 
 
 Lady Helen, too, must not be overlooked in 
 the crowd that began to assemble in greater 
 numbers than they had expected. Beautifully 
 dressed, beautifully mounted; she, too, had a 
 kind word for her father^s friends, and managed 
 to remember the names of their wives and daugh- 
 ters as easily as she did her old pensioners in the 
 neighbouring village. 
 
 ' How does the horse carry you, Helen —
 
 A COUNTRY-HOUSE IN SEASON. 2G3 
 
 nearly a handful isn't he ? ' said her cousin, as he 
 rode by her side — a gratification he never seemed 
 willing to deny himself. He was nearly a hand- 
 ful as she admitted ; ' but not too much, as she 
 didn't mean to ride the run if they had one.' 
 
 ' You shall have another bridle on that horse 
 another time. Your father quite agrees with me, 
 that you should ride him in a gag and a martin- 
 gal, putting the martingal on the curb-rein.' 
 
 ' It was Mr Curbs who thoucrht it so dano^er- 
 ous ; we spoke about it, at least Hawkestone did, 
 the other day.' 
 
 ' He's like all grooms : if they've never seen 
 a thing, it can't be right. That's a good young 
 horse of Hawkestone's, Helen. I've been school- 
 ing him, and I persuaded him to ride him to- 
 day. I should like a run, though the country is 
 so blind. He'd soon find him out. He looks 
 better to-day.' 
 
 ' But he's so indifferent about the whole thing, 
 Harold. Look at my father, he's more life in 
 him than Hawkestone now. Ah, here's the car- 
 riage.' 
 
 ' What's the matter. Lady Fanny ? ' said Lord 
 Hawkestone. 
 
 ' The ponies pull much worse than the mare, 
 and it's too bad of Frank, who only wants to
 
 264 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 have lier himself by persuading papa that I can^t 
 ride her/ 
 
 In five minutes more the hounds were in 
 cover, and while Lord Hawkestone jumped his new 
 horse over the fence with his hounds, his cousin 
 Harold took the low stile in the corner nearest 
 the river. 
 
 ' That's right, Harold, put them to me ; if we 
 find, weVe nobody but the new boy out this 
 morning, and we'll try and force one or two out 
 on the Grassfold side — we may get a gallop now,' 
 and Hawkestone didn't seem to lack energy now 
 at all events. The greater part of the field, some 
 thirty or forty horsemen, headed by Lord Falcon- 
 berg and Lady Helen, held on their way down 
 the principal rides or on the outside, but so far 
 back as to give the fox a chance of getting away.
 
 265 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 AN EARLY DAY WITH THE CUBS. 
 
 Young foxhounds are troublesome things to deal 
 witli : riotous, vigorous^ courageous, and ignorant. 
 These are not meant for their names, by-the-way, 
 which they well might be. It was a beautiful 
 thing to see them dash here and there with an 
 indifference to thorns and briars, while here and 
 there stood one or more with ears erect, looking 
 as if they were rather surprised at their friends, 
 and then dashing off for a hundred yards or more, 
 whenever they found an open spot for their gam- 
 bols. ' War'hare ! ' cries the new boy, cracking 
 his hea.vy thong ; while the old lord and Lady 
 Helen proceeded cautiously, the former taking 
 note of the performance of his beauties, and mark- 
 ing some for distinction, in the hope of seeing 
 them, in two seasons more, the perfection of what 
 a hound should be. The real master, too, was at 
 work with his head, and Harold was recording
 
 266 LORD falconbeeg's heir. 
 
 anything of notice for tlie evening's cigar^ or tlie 
 after-dinner conversation. 
 
 The scene was of great beauty. The night's 
 spray hung still upon the leaves^ as the dew upon 
 the grasSj though the sun was getting higher, 
 and beginning to steal, here and there, through 
 the red and brown autumnal tints. The ground 
 game was quickly on the move^ and it required 
 all Harold's and young Jim's vigilance to keep 
 the young drafts from occasional riot. Every 
 now and then, too, a young cock, roused from his 
 shelter, would rise through the branches, and fly 
 to the other end of the long cover, while his more 
 astute companions ran stealthily through the 
 grass into the ditches and hedgerows on either 
 side. 
 
 ' Tally-ho ! ' sings out the family doctor, about 
 a hundred and fifty yards down the cover, where 
 he had stationed himself well out of sight, by Lord 
 Hawkestone's desire; prepared, as all doctors are, 
 to ride as if his limbs belonged to his neighbours, 
 and he was to have the setting of them. ' Tally- 
 ho ! ' yells the doctor a second time, which was 
 not responded to, as the wily fox held his course 
 out of sight along a hedgerow as impervious to 
 vision as in the height of summer. 
 
 Crash through the branches, however, came
 
 AN EARLY DAY WITH THE CUBS. 267 
 
 Lord Hawkestone, bringing with him two or three 
 couple of his hounds, who immediately opened as 
 they ran along the side of the cover, while the rest 
 came joining in the chorus, hurried along by the 
 joint efforts of Harold Falcon and young Jim. 
 ' Hold up, stupid/ says the former, as his young 
 horse, violent among the bushes, and endeavouring 
 to get through, nearly falls on his head over some 
 prostrate timber ; ' get away to him, Galloper,^ 
 while Jim hustled down the ride to see which 
 way he broke, if break he would. Lord Falcon- 
 berg held up his whip, and kept the impatient 
 spirits behind him in check. ' Steady, gentle- 
 men, steady — we've only young ones out to-day; 
 let's do the hunting first, you'll have time enough 
 for the riding a month or two later.' Then there 
 was a dead silence. ' Ah, he's back — I told you 
 so — he'll not be out of these covers under half-an- 
 hour, possibly not in double the time.' And 
 then they trotted down the ride, keeping the 
 hounds in sight. ' Hold hard, it's all the way 
 back;' and in another moment the body of the 
 hounds came racing through the brushwood down 
 the river-side, while the field turned round, as 
 eager to go the other way as they had just 
 been to follow the reverse. 
 
 By the time Hawkestonc and Harold and Jim
 
 268 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 had half tired their horses, when there had been 
 at least four foxes on foot at different times, and 
 when the young hounds had begun to settle, long 
 after the crowd had become impatient, and when 
 they had begun to talk about going home to 
 dress for market, a Hallo! Away! was heard from 
 the very point at which Hawkestone had wished 
 him to break towards Grassfold. The field turned 
 along the first broad ride that presented itself. 
 Lord Falconberg led his daughter at a pace that 
 soon put a considerable distance between them 
 and the broad-brimmed, red-nosed old fellows 
 behind. The doctor was fighting his way through 
 a grove of nut trees in full leaf, and seemed hope- 
 lessly planted ; while Harold, performing his 
 promise to the best of his ability, took one turn 
 to bring up a refractory couple and a half, and, 
 leaving the rest of the laggers to Jim and luck, 
 emerged over a very unpromising blackberry bush 
 in full bearing, with his nose sci-atched and his 
 cheek bleeding. ' So much for doing the new 
 boy^s duty, and letting Ned have a holiday to go 
 to Silverford fair.^ 
 
 There was no time for much consideration. 
 On getting himself clear of the leaves, and his 
 horse's hind legs of a hurdle which he had brought 
 with him out of the blackberry bushes, the first
 
 AN EARLY DAY WITH THE CUBS. 269 
 
 thing that lie saw was a hat, which he recognized, 
 just disappearing over a stiff-bound fence, one 
 field ahead of him. On the right were the 
 twenty-five farmers, confined to a bridle-road, 
 with Lady Helen at their head. Lord Falconberg 
 himself having emerged from the crowd, and in 
 the act of negotiating what looked like a gap, 
 only because the rest of the fence was impracti- 
 cable. The business is soon told, for it was soon 
 over. Farmer Harrowgate^s notions of scent 
 were all wrong. The young hounds, led by a 
 lady or two remarkable for pace, never spoke 
 after being once on their fox, but ran for Grass- 
 fold as if tied to him. They had done their hunt- 
 ing in the Hawkestone covers; and though 
 Harold with Linton, Millbank, and some of his 
 friends, tried hard to catch them, they never de- 
 creased the distance between themselves and 
 Lord Hawkestone by a hundred yards. 
 
 ' Look at those hounds, Linton ; straight for 
 Grassfold. It must be an old one ; the quickest 
 thing Vve ever seen. Wonderful entry, and how 
 little tailing.' 
 
 ' Never mind the hounds. Falcon ; look at 
 Hawkestone's chestnut ! ' And true enough, he 
 was performing over a difficult country after a 
 fashion that betokened a good man was on hisback.
 
 270 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 But Harold's eyes were on the pack ; and 
 while Linton and Millbank were looking at the 
 chestnut, Harold was looking at the hounds. 
 The leaders turned to the left, which gave him 
 one chance more ; and while his late companions 
 rode for a gate on the high ground, Harold, 
 jumping an awkward staken-bound fence, sunk 
 the hill at a pace that none but a thorough-bred 
 one could accomplish, as the fox was pulled down 
 in the next hedge-row. 
 
 He and his cousin were off their horses in no 
 time, and the obsequies might almost have been 
 performed by the time the field had arrived. 
 Harold looked at Lord Hawkestone ; instead of 
 the bright fresh colour which he had usually seen, 
 he was surprised to remark a paleness so great 
 that he could not help saying, 
 
 ' Are you unwell, Hawkestone ? ' 
 
 ' Not the least; a little faint,' replied he, turn- 
 ing away from Lord Falconberg, who was on the 
 other side of him. At the same time he looked 
 at Harold intelligently, and blowing his horn, 
 trotted gently forward. 
 
 ' Where to now, Hawkestone ? ' said the 
 latter, following him up, and seeing that his 
 colour was returning. 
 
 ' We'll go back and try the other side of our
 
 AN EARLY DAY WITH THE CUBS. 271 
 
 covers. They waut well rattling between this 
 a,nd November. Thanks for the schooling youVe 
 given this horse, he's quite perfect. Yours looks 
 as if he'd been plating during the summer.' 
 
 ' I've only two, my dear fellow, and I regard 
 condition as the great secret of work. I ride 
 them all the year round, and they're just as fit to 
 go now as in February, and all the better for 
 their summering. There's no summering equal 
 to gentle exercise.* 
 
 ' And yet Harold doesn't object to galloping 
 with me,' said Lady Helen, laughing, as she rode 
 up, ' when the road is like iron.' 
 
 ' Because I always take one of Hawkestone's 
 horses. I suppose you're going home now. We 
 shall not get another gallop to-day, and are going 
 to have an hour's turn at business in the big 
 woods.' Saying which Lord Hawkestone and 
 Harold trotted off with about half-a-dozen of 
 their stanchest adherents — among whom were not 
 Linton and Millbank — to find another fox in their 
 nursery. 
 
 Lord Falconberg hesitated a moment, and 
 then followed the hounds down to the big woods, 
 where they had an hour's hunting and a kill 
 among themselves — quite a fimily party, and a 
 very dangerous one to the foxes.
 
 272 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 ' Where's Linton V said Lord Hawkestone — 
 passing along the hall with a flat candlestick- — to 
 Harold, who was coming the other way. 
 
 ' Playing billiards with Colonel Montressor.' 
 The Colonel was a proficient, having commanded 
 a regiment in India which was always engaged in 
 fighting, pig-sticking, or billiards; and equally 
 adept at all three. 
 
 ' Then he's happy. He quite delights in losing 
 his money, and the Receiver- General never fails 
 to accommodate him. Where are Millbank and 
 Carruthers ? ' 
 
 ' They're in the smoking-room with Tommy 
 Dashwood, I'm going to my room to fetch them 
 some of those large Trabucos.' 
 
 ' Are they all gone out of the drawing-room ? ' 
 inquired Lord Hawkestone, after a pause. ' You're 
 not going into ecarte with Carruthers and Mill- 
 bank ? ' 
 
 ' Not I,' said Harold. ' 1 lost ten pounds yes- 
 terday, and I find it quite enough for such an 
 amateur as I. I should think it was like taking 
 a header to a man who never washed.' 
 
 ' Time has been, old fellow,' said the other. 
 ' Come to my room and let's have a chat. Bring 
 a cigar or two up ; Helen don't mind it, and no- 
 body else knows anything about it.' Saying
 
 AX EARLY DAY WITH THE CUBS. 273 
 
 whicli he walked up-stairs slowly, and Harold 
 joined liim in ten minutes^ time. 
 
 ' How well those hounds behaved to-day, 
 Harold.' 
 
 Harold Falcon was rather thoughtful, but 
 said ' Yes ' very deliberately, i 
 
 ' Confound it, Harold, you don't seem to 
 think so. You're not thinking of your nose, 
 though it was rough work on that lower side.' 
 
 * Well, I really do think so. That draft from 
 the Badminton kennel is excellent, and I like 
 your system of breeding from big hounds. This 
 is a strong country, and requires plenty of bone 
 as well as courage.' Then Harold drew his chair 
 up to his cousin's fire, and made himself comfort- 
 able. ' Lend nie one of your smoking jackets ; 
 that's capital. I'm glad you like your new horse. 
 You've a good stud to begin the season. It's 
 just the stud I should Hke. Like our clothes, it 
 would fit either of us.' 
 
 ' I'm glad of it, Harold.' 
 
 ' When you're in the thick of it, I shall bring 
 one more from Tilbury's, and see how near I can 
 get to you. I was a field off this morning watch- 
 ing you, when the hounds swung round to my 
 left. But, tell me, you were not quite well ? ' 
 and Harold looked straight at his cousin. 
 
 VOL. I. 18
 
 274 LOED falconberg's heie. 
 
 ^ All, Harold — you detected it. Don't say 
 anything about it to Helen or my father. I made 
 lip my mind to trust you ! so let's have it out 
 now. Don't bring any horses down from Til- 
 bury's. Come and ride mine.' 
 
 ' But, my dear Hawkestone ;' and leaning for- 
 ward on the arms of the chair, Harold looked 
 very earnestly at his cousin. 
 
 'Listen, Harold — keep my counsel — I must 
 go abroad the end of October or in November. 
 It may be nothing ; and I shall probably return 
 all right. I wish my father to be spared all un- 
 easiness, and Helen too, as long as possible. I 
 would take you with me, Harold, but we want 
 you here. You won't leave the old man, Harold, 
 nor Nelly, will you ? ' Hawkestone seldom called 
 her Nelly ; never, indeed, but upon rare occasions 
 of affectionate exhibition. Harold could scarcely 
 answer, so unexpected was the conversation — 
 but he did say, 
 
 ' No. I'll not leave them : but tell me more. 
 Have you seen any one ? , What are yom* reasons 
 for wishing to go ?' And the contending emo- 
 tions which assailed Harold Falcon at once were 
 not even, explicable to his own heart. Sorrow 
 had the first place, however, and a sense of terri- 
 ble embarrassment mounted the colour to his face.
 
 AN. EARLY DAY WITH THE CUBS. 275 
 
 'Now don't fidget about it, that's a good fel- 
 low, and I'll tell you all about it. I have seen 
 some one, and I think it better to act on his 
 advice.' 
 
 ' Cardiac or Lob el ?' 
 
 ' Neither the one nor the other. Cardiac 
 would never have told me, nor you, nor my father, 
 nor Helen; but he would have told everybody 
 else. Lobel would have told none of us. He's 
 the man who thinks you may eat ices, but you 
 should have the chill taken off. No. I wanted 
 the truth, and I went to Bluster.' 
 
 ' Who has made a large fortune by frighten- 
 ing people, and then pretending to cure them,' 
 said Harold, smoking easily to all appearance, 
 but with his heart beating with anxiety. ' What 
 did he say ? ' 
 
 ' He told me what I feel to be true : that one 
 lung is much disorganized, which means dis- 
 eased, I presume; and that my days are num- 
 bered.' 
 
 Harold rose from his seat, unable to speak, 
 
 and took his cousin's hands in his own. Twice 
 
 he tried, but could say nothing. Lord Hawke- 
 
 stone seemed but little aflfected as he told his 
 
 stoiy, and continued to smoke as calmly as if he 
 
 .>■■ 
 had never heard the startling intelligence, or was
 
 276 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 talking of some one else. ' There, sit down,^ 
 continued he, with a cheerful smile, ' don^t be 
 too much alarmed. He told me the worst : that 
 I might live years with care and good luck, but 
 that I might be summoned at a shorter notice. 
 Come, Harold, cheer up, my old friend,^ and as 
 he spoke, Lord Hawkestone got up, and leaning 
 over the back of his chair, put his arms affection- 
 ately over Harold's shoulders, whose grief almost 
 burst forth in sobs. ' I shall live long enougli 
 now to give you all some trouble ; but it's right 
 you should know your position — ^better for us all. 
 Stop here and take care of your uncle and cheer 
 Nelly : no one can do it better.' Here they bothi 
 stood up on the hearth. ' And I say, Harold, let 
 me ride, and shoot, and look well or ill, as I can. 
 You know my secret — war' babblers, as we say 
 in the kennel — and God bless you, old boy.' 
 
 If ever a man felt miserable at a possibility, 
 it was Harold Falcon at the possibility of be- 
 comincf an earl.
 
 277 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 EAELY MORNING IN ST JAMEs's. 
 
 Time never stands still ; and it did so no more 
 with the family of Falconberg than with other 
 people. Well-born wealth gets a few privileges 
 out of the world, but this is one of the exceptions 
 to that general rule, and common people ought 
 to make the most of it. Great men are as subject 
 to pain of body and of mind as little people, 
 though not of the same kind; but they are obliged 
 to come into' this world and go out of it quite in- 
 dependently of their own wills or ways. I had 
 forgotten — not quite — wealth will assist in life- 
 prolonging, though it has no effect on life-pro- 
 ducing : dirt, squalor, and misery seeming to 
 claim as its own the blessings of a numerous off- 
 spring. If the water-rates, or the rest of his 
 creditors, are his enemies, Giles the curate does 
 look ashamed when he goes to speak with them 
 in the gate, if he has more mouths than he has 
 bread for; and though there is nothing in our
 
 278 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 religion from wliicli some consolation may not be 
 derived, if properly applied, tlie application of 
 that full quiver to Giles's case, lias given him less 
 satisfaction than it ought to have done, when he 
 has considered the necessity of maintaining them. 
 I have no doubt that when Providence sends 
 mouths it sends loaves. But if I get all the 
 mouths and you get all the bread — where are 
 we ? 
 
 Now the fact is that time did not stand still 
 for the Falconbergs, but their wealth had done 
 something for them in the matter of that other 
 case which we mentioned. It had prolonged 
 Lord Hawkestone's life in spite of some very strong 
 opinions formed by the physicians, and a certain 
 amount of indifference to his own case exhibited 
 by the young noble himself. He had been abroad 
 every winter, but he never would go till later 
 than the orders given. He would go out hunting 
 and take his chance of getting wet ; and he would 
 ride much harder and much farther than he ought 
 to do ; until he brought on that cough with its 
 bad symptoms, and that faintuess, which he was 
 particularly ordered to avoid. He liked to 
 have a day's cover- shooting, and to look up the 
 woodcocks for which their woods were notorious ; 
 and which birds, as the parson of his parish (a
 
 EAELY MORNING IN ST JAMES's. 279 
 
 fine sportsman as well as a divine) informed him, 
 did not come till the lessons were in Daniel — in. 
 other words, in November. 
 
 Now what was to be done with a man of this 
 sort ? The best that could be made of Lord 
 Hawkestone by his sister and his cousin Harold 
 was a moderate valetudinarian from April to No- 
 vember. 
 
 It was April now. Lord Falconberg was just 
 come to town with his people, which consisted 
 still of Harold and Lady Helen, and a host of 
 retainers. He looks older, and has one source of 
 regret which, affects him deeply ; as deeply as ex- 
 terior circumstances can well affect such a man. 
 Beside and beyond the delicate health of his eldest, 
 and now only son, neither Lady Helen nor Harold 
 will marry. They bave both told him so at odd 
 times j mucb to his disgust. His first wish was 
 that they should marry one another. But he was 
 much too delicate to bint at such a thing; and 
 feeling conscious of his desire upon the subject, 
 he had not pressed Harold as much as he other- 
 wise might have done, to come and live with 
 them. That gentleman, therefore, was a guest 
 when he pleased, and as often as he pleased, 
 which was at least nine months out of the twelve. 
 But he still kept that little place which had come
 
 280 LORD falcoxberg's heir. 
 
 to liim witli liis aunt^s money, not very far from 
 London. 
 
 When Lord Falconberg found tliat Harold 
 did not propose to Helen, but tliat all their liking 
 for each other was a cousinly or platonic regard, 
 he wondered why neither of them would marry 
 anybody else. Lady Helen was still as handsome 
 as ever. Farina had proposed, and been refused. 
 He was a marquis, with a fine fortune, as much 
 as Lord Falconberg had himself; but he was a 
 great fool, and Harold hated the sight of him ; 
 which seemed quite enough to set Helen against 
 him. She told Harold all about it, the old man 
 knew, and the two schemers were unanimous in 
 discarding the match of the season. But it was 
 not so with Lord Belleville. They all liked him, 
 and Harold and he were as intimate as ever. And 
 they all spoke highly of him ; but Helen would 
 have nothing to say to him, though at this moment 
 she was closeted with Lady Diana in Grosvenor- 
 square ; and there were half-a-dozen more hope- 
 lessly rejected. Hawkestone only made his health 
 an excuse, which might have been accepted in 
 peace and with resignation by the old peer, if he 
 could but have seen Harold inclined to settle 
 down. ' And here he is, not old but getting on,' 
 as he told the duke, who, being himself midway
 
 EARLY MORNING IN ST JAMES's. 281 
 
 between Harold Falcon^s age and tliat of liis 
 uncle, thought there was plenty of time. 
 
 'Yes, duke, there's plenty of time; if I was 
 but sure of his marrying at all. Hawkestone's 
 health is very precarious.' And here the good old 
 peer dropped his voice, for he loved Hawkestone 
 dearly, and he knew the duke had an inkling of 
 some feeling of the kind on the part of Lady 
 Diana. ' Hawkestone's life is very precarious ; 
 
 and if that fellow George Talcon was to get 
 
 the property, I think I shouldn't rest in my grave.' 
 
 ' And what has George done ? ' says the duke, 
 giving his weight-caiTying hunter a reminder with 
 the spur that he wasn't so good a hack as he might 
 be. ' I thought he was one of the steady-going 
 sort, Falconberg. Took a good degree ; and 
 when I saw him last was as full of law as an egg's 
 full of meat. He's not quite so lively as my 
 friend Harold ; but young stock throws back, 
 and his heir might be very different from himself; 
 more like his father or his uncle. I didn't even 
 know that he was married.' 
 
 ' Nor do I know it, but I suspect it ; and I 
 could have forgiven anything but a mesalliance. 
 I have heard that he really is married to some 
 foreign woman or other.' And very savage the 
 earl looked at the reminiscence.
 
 282 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 ' Tlie devil he is ! "Wliat makes you tliink 
 that?' 
 
 'That sort of general report, which is not 
 worth much, but which one can't disregard. It 
 came from the Temple, I fancy, and got to the 
 ears of old Diyden, who is pretty clever at ferret- 
 ing out a mystery.' 
 
 ' And infernally quick at finding a mare's- 
 nest.' And then the two jogged on to draw 
 Buttercup Gorse for an afternoon. fox, and re- 
 marked upon the failure of scent in a season so 
 dry as the present. Of course Harold and Lord 
 Hawkestone had heard of all this ; and the former 
 especially had listened to it, and his uncle's vio- 
 lent protests against it ; but as George had not 
 been to Hawkestone or Grosvenor- square for a 
 long time, it was not likely to be cleared up by 
 direct explanation, a difficult process at all times ; 
 especially so in the case before us. Harold at all 
 events did not seem inclined to stir in the matter. 
 
 Bond- street was full in the morning consider- 
 ing the time of year, not very late in April. It 
 was especially crowded opposite Long's Hotel, 
 and there stood Harold Falcon, unable to cross 
 for two large waggons, which leisurely pi'oceeded 
 towards Bruton-street, and a very neat drag 
 which was pulled up against the curb-stone at
 
 EARLY MORNING IN ST JAMES's. 283 
 
 Long's. No man about town could fail to recog- 
 nize the drag. It was drawn by four short-legged 
 coaching-looking horses, worth from sixty to 
 eighty pounds a-piece ; two roans, a dark bay, 
 and a good nutmeg-gray. The harness was 
 strong, well made, with a sufficiency of brass about 
 it, and exceedingly well cleaned, and an early 
 spring-flower adorned each horse's head-piece on 
 the outside of the blinkers. The coach itself was 
 rather low, and combined strength with lightness 
 and appearance ; notwithstanding which it was 
 what Sir St Y — — was pleased to call ' coaching 
 all over.' It was a dark brown, picked out with 
 red, not showing too much colour ; and on the 
 panels and boot was a plain crest. When Harold 
 detected what had been wittily called the ' clerical 
 tile and the fighting bird ' — ^but which was a bi- 
 shop's mitre and a dove with an olive branch in his 
 mouth — he looked towards the door of the hotel. 
 Of course he saw his friend Carruthers flourish- 
 ing a whip, which he had just caught, to the 
 damage of one of Mr Jubber's wine-glasses (he 
 had just taken the house), and to the hindrance of 
 a respectable gentleman who was waiting to get 
 through the doorway. 
 
 Carruthers was not much altered, not more 
 altered than a man should be who is married and
 
 284 LORD FALCONBEEG S HEIR. 
 
 has given up steeple-cliasing, and taken to driving 
 for an employment. Fatter of course^ and redder ; 
 and at this moment given to a loud shawl of cash- 
 mere wound loosely round his neck. 
 
 ' Why, Harold, when did you come to town ? ' 
 said the ex-country gentleman, shaking him 
 warmly by the hand ; and it must be admitted 
 that (money matters on one side) Harold had not 
 a warmer admirer. 
 
 ' I came up this morning from Egmont to 
 Grosvenor- square ; the Earl and Lady Helen 
 arrived last week.^ 
 
 ^ And how's Hawkestone ? Is he coming home 
 soon ? ' 
 
 ' Much better, I believe ; he talks of coming 
 back immediately. He hates the continent. But 
 nobody knows how he really is ; for he always 
 makes the best of himself — he's so anxious to get 
 home. Where are you going ? ' 
 
 'Down to Pinner to look at some horses. 
 You'd better come too. There's Belleville and 
 Childers and two or three men want to look at 
 some horses of Mason's. You'd better come.' 
 Saying which he took hold of the reins and pre- 
 pared to mount. 
 
 ' Not to-day, Dick ; I want to go to the club 
 for some letters.'
 
 EARLY MORNING IN ST JAMES's. 285 
 
 'Nasty place to get away from^ this/ said 
 Dick, once more looking round for liis passengers. 
 I wonder when it'll occur to any of those wise- 
 acres, the commissioners, that this part of Bond- 
 street wants widening. Who the d — 1 is to drive 
 a team through here at five o'clock in the after- 
 noon in June ? ' 
 
 ' If railroads prosper as they have done there'll 
 soon be no drags to drive, nor gentlemen to drive 
 them. I came up on the Slough line this morn- 
 ing, and we did a mile a minute. In a very short 
 time the street will be quite wide enough for all 
 the drags that will go through it. How are Lady 
 Margaret and the children ? ' 
 
 ' All right, thanks. They come to town next 
 month.' 
 
 ' And the Eover ? ' 
 
 ' Fresh as paint. I sold him last week for five- 
 and-twenty pounds.' 
 
 ' Stingy beggar,' said Harold, pursuing his 
 way towards St James's- street, but soliloquizing, 
 * stingy beggar, I'd have given him the money 
 myself to have turned him out, for old acquaint- 
 ance' sake.' 
 
 When Harold walked down St James's-street, 
 his mind turned back to other days. How dif- 
 ferent was he, how little changed everything
 
 286 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 around him. Tlie Guards' club-house was trans- 
 planted to Pall-mall ; and Crockford's, where he 
 had lost so many hundreds^ was closed. The 
 legislature, of which we are so proud, had taken 
 some very decisive steps towards making Young 
 England less extravagant in its taste for gambling. 
 To be sure it has failed, and has only turned into 
 fresh channels the waters that once ran through 
 Crockford's, Liley's, and the numerous houses, 
 where, in defiance of public opinion, men played. 
 Since those days we have become virtuous. The 
 open profession of a gamester is illegal ; and any- 
 body may ascertain that fact who will visit Hyde 
 Park, or the rooms at Newmarket, or TattersalFs, or 
 the race-meetings of England in general. The dirty 
 little boys without money may not breathe upon 
 the glasses, it is true ; while the sweet little dears 
 who have plenty may walk up, and assist at the 
 show. This was a change, and Harold saw but 
 one way of ruining himself now, where there had 
 been several. He saw however Young Strutt 
 going down in his bearskin, and he thought of 
 himself when he first joined ; and was highly de- 
 lighted that he had got as well out of his troubles 
 as he had. At the end of some ten years he was 
 still paying the interest or the principal of the 
 debts he had contracted ; but they were being
 
 E.VRLY MORNING IN ST JAMES's. 287 
 
 paid, honourabljj and they still left hiin an in- 
 come to live upon : thanks to his old aunt. As 
 he thought of this, his step grew lighter, and he 
 stopped for a moment to look at the caricatures 
 in Sams^ window, which exhibited some of his 
 own friends in a very flattering light. 
 
 As he turned round the corner into St Jameses- 
 square, he was stopped by the lively members of 
 the new club, ' the Flag.^ To judge by appear- 
 ances he must have been a great favourite. 
 
 ' Harold, my boy, how are ye ? ' said Major 
 McMahon ; ' you're just in time for lunch,' with 
 which he seized him by both hands, to a certain 
 extent monopolizing those members. At the 
 same time he was surrounded. 
 
 ' The very man,' says Strait Hare to his friend 
 Brownlock. ' Falcon, you'll go down to the 
 Woolwich meeting to-morrow ; you can go on the 
 drag. Slime is going to ride.^ Harold had 
 partly released himself by this time. 
 
 ' It would be more to the purpose to tell me 
 who's going to drive;' and then he passed up the 
 steps into the club, followed by an old acquaint- 
 ance or two, who wanted to talk to him. 
 
 ' Bring a biscuit and some sherry here. Have 
 you any news. Falcon ? ' 
 
 'None whatever. They say that Carfax will
 
 288 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 be returned for Dumbleton ; and that it will cost 
 liira six thousand. The last man spent five, and 
 was hardly used. He lost his seat for bribing/ 
 
 ' Bribing ! ' and the speaker's face was illu- 
 mined with virtuous indignation. 
 
 ' Yes ; not high enough. There are places, 
 you know, where they settle beforehand who's to 
 have it ; I hear that Carfax has arranged to have 
 Dumbleton at that money, if he will close the 
 bargain at once. That's the last political on dit. 
 But I hear nothing at Egmont.' He was talking 
 to his old friend Barrington. 
 
 ' Then why not give it up. Lord Falconberg 
 hates it, I heard him say so.' 
 
 ' I must live somewhere — at least I must have 
 somewhere to live. Besides, Lord Falconberg 
 and Lady Helen like to have a place to run down 
 to out of town. You'd better come and see us 
 there — ^before Hawkestone comes home, or there 
 will be no bed-room for you.' 
 
 ' What's become of Hawkestone ? Is he 
 better ? ' 
 
 ' He says so ; I should fancy he was. But 
 he's so imprudent. Just now he's in Italy, com- 
 ing over the Simplon I believe, or else to Lucerne 
 by Altorf, I don't know which. We expect him 
 this month. It's too soon.'
 
 EARLY MORNING IN ST JAMES's. 289 
 
 * Somerville/ said a smart-looking light cav- 
 alry man on tlie steps of the Flag, ' wlio was that 
 very handsome man who went into the club with 
 Barrington and McMahon just now ? Wonderfully 
 good-looking fellow/ 
 
 ' Don't you know ? That was Falcon/ 
 ' What ! Falcon who was in the Guards ? ' 
 'Yes, that's the man. Did you see Slime? 
 When Falcon came to grief in the Guards they 
 say that a thousand would have saved him. Well, 
 Slime was rolling in bank-notes, and a very 
 feather-bed sort of look it gives him ; so CoUing- 
 wood proposed to Slime to lend him the money 
 on an emergency.' To be sure the thousand 
 would not have saved him, but Slime didn't 
 know that. 
 
 ' Of course he wouldn't do it,' said the light- 
 cavalry man, who had had some experience of that 
 kind, though the light-cavalry are very good in 
 bearing one another's burdens. 
 
 ' Not he — he allowed him to be arrested on 
 the steps of his own lodgings in Maddox-street. 
 Falcon didn't know of Collingwood's application. 
 He would not apply to Lord Falconberg nor to 
 Hawkestone, either of whom would have given 
 him ten times the money. I suppose he didn't 
 like to do so, and Hawkestone was out of town. 
 
 VOL. I. 19
 
 290 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 At tliat time you know lie had four cousins alive 
 and well between him and the title, now he has 
 but one, and that a most precarious life. I should 
 think Slime was good for five thousand to-day on 
 Talcon's I. 0. U. 
 
 ' Yes, if he carried interest enough. Stingy 
 beggar/ added the smart-looking cavalry officer. 
 So there was more than one stingy beggar about 
 on that morning in April. 
 
 When Harold had finished his sherry and bis- 
 cuits, and recruited his ill-informed mind with 
 the on clits of the day, of which he heard no- 
 thing at Egmont, as he had said, he asked for his 
 letters and walked out of the Flag. "While he 
 had been there. Lady Helen had had a visit too 
 in Grosvenor- square. Lady Diana Belleville had 
 come early to see her friend, and finding Lord 
 Falconberg gone to a meeting at the Premieres, 
 to see whether a cabinet minister's ofiicial resi- 
 dence was not paved with good intentions equally 
 with another rather notorious place, she stayed to 
 lunch. 
 
 The interesting regard which was attributed 
 to Mr Slime will not stand out in such promi- 
 nence when we consider that the fault, though 
 gross enough, is not so uncommon as may be 
 supposed. Slime acted by his instincts of the
 
 EARLY MORNING IN ST JAMES'S. 291 
 
 rat, wMcli deserts a fallen house, it has been 
 said. His thousand would have been useless, 
 had he offered it, we know ; and it was far better 
 that Harold should have borne his own burden, 
 if he did not choose to give one end of it to his 
 own family. There were plenty more besides 
 Slime that knew of his difficulties, but none of 
 them, that we heard of, came to the rescue. All 
 we can say for Collingwood himself is that he 
 was hard-up ; so were some others, which Slime 
 was not.
 
 292 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 OUR EELIGIOUS EXERCISES. 
 
 Some few years before the time of wliicli I am 
 writing, and about seven-and-tbirty years before 
 our own^ tbere was a strong religious movement 
 in Oxford. I say in Oxford ; for although it soon 
 began to pervade other parts of England, — as 
 what extravagance will not ! — it was so much 
 more Oxonian in its locality and tone, as to be 
 even distinguished by one name, among many 
 others, as the Oxford movement. Eminently 
 prolific of good and evil, the former predominat- 
 ing. 
 
 Beyond this it was Puseyite, Newmaniacal, 
 Anglo- Catholic, High Church, and Ritualistic. 
 It was difficult to say what it was not, according 
 to the tenets or prejudices of its denominators. 
 Its earliest professors were remarkable for many 
 things not before understood in the University. 
 It met with favour from neither the old orthodox 
 divine of the Common Room — who liked its port
 
 OUR RELIGIOUS EXERCISES. 293 
 
 and its piquet, and who limited himself to a cer- 
 tain number of chapel attendances, lest he should 
 by voluntary religious exercise be considered to 
 savour of Popery j a new feature in that obligat- 
 ing creed, — nor from the undergraduate, who, 
 whatever penance he might imagine that he suf- 
 fered by the Oxford Curriculum, had no idea of 
 making a sacrifice of his personal self-indulgence 
 part of his religious profession, any more than of 
 his practice. 
 
 Its first professors, some of them, I say, were 
 remarkable for shining ability, great logical 
 acuteness, much learning, and deep thought. 
 They were also endowed with perseverance and 
 logical courage to carry out to its fullest extent 
 their crotchets ; and having embarked on a special 
 voyage, were not to be daunted by the dangers 
 that beset them when they got amongst the 
 breakers. Hence came a great loss to a good 
 cause ; the loss of men to the Protestant Church, 
 whose zeal and talents could ill be spared. There 
 are always men to follow a lead, and those who 
 had themselves gone thus astray, drew some 
 weak followers after them. This was sure to be 
 the case. For just as Charles Dickens may be 
 regarded as the greatest enemy the English 
 language has ever had, by the host of servile imi-
 
 294 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 tators liis excellence has procured for liim^ and 
 who have not been able to distinguish his faults 
 from his virtues ; so that smaller and less capable 
 herd of imitators have mistaken the weak points 
 of the original seceders for their excellence, and 
 have left the Church little to regret in their 
 secession, beyond the sorrow she feels for their 
 own misadventure. 
 
 The sacred spring, however, from which these 
 troubled waters flowed, was anything but dried 
 up ; and in process of time it has poured forth a 
 stream, which, with all its obstacles and impedi- 
 ments, and the natural impurities of the soil 
 through which it runs, is fertilizing and rendering 
 productive vast plains, which were before this but 
 scantily benefited by religious irrigation. In 
 plain language, Puseyism, or Eitualism, or what- 
 ever you may choose to call that movement in 
 our Church which originated with Oxford some 
 two-and-thirty years ago, has given rise to an 
 amount of work and sentiment — call it excitement 
 if you will — which has been universally advantage- 
 ous. Puseyism has done good, a great amount 
 of good. It has taught men to think, and sent 
 men out to work ; it has revived in its integrity 
 the old Parochial system, it has brought to our 
 door (or taken us to theirs) the poor, the ignor-
 
 OUR EELIGIOUS EXERCISES. 295 
 
 ant, tlie unwise. It Las promulgated the best 
 cliarity, love for God tlirougli our fellow-creatures. 
 So we must not laugh at its absurdities^ for it has 
 them ; nor confound its unwise^ and in many 
 cases insincere, advocates with those men and 
 women whose hearts are in their work, and who, 
 distmguishing the corn from the chaff, are willing 
 to let both grow to the harvest lest they should 
 root up the good with the bad. 
 
 ^ Hallo ! look at Lenten,' says young Wild- 
 boys of Ch. Ch. ; ' don't suppose he ever had 
 a bath in his life.' 
 
 ' Nor a bottle of champagne,' adds Chaffinch, 
 of Merton, as that erudite and cadaverous, but 
 rather slovenly and unworldly, gentleman the 
 Reverend Benedict Lenten walks up the hall, 
 with his hands in front of him, a pious contrast 
 to his pious friend the Reverend Amos Kitten, 
 who affects the innocence of youth and the play- 
 fulness of girlhood, as a becoming mark of his 
 Anglo- Saxonism. 
 
 ' Great expense of candles there, Goldstick,' 
 says the Honourable Rigby Passenham, who has 
 lately taken to going to church and is very ob- 
 servant. 
 
 ' Yes,' says Lord Goldstick ; ' but you wait a 
 bit, and you'll hear a magnificent '' credo;" and if
 
 296 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 we have that anthem of Montem Smith's you'll be 
 delighted/ 
 
 ' Who's that just come in ? ' 
 
 * That's Pulham^ the man who had to leave 
 the Flag for a turf robbery ; and the good-looking 
 man with him is young Spoonington^ who ran 
 away with old Covey's wife.' 
 
 ^ Well, he's none the worse for coming to 
 church/ says the newly- converted Passenham^ 
 whose rej&ection kept pace with his observation. 
 ' Look at those black women ! ' 
 
 ' I don't see any black women/ says Gold- 
 stick. 
 
 ' There ; near the reading-desk, with curious 
 head-dresses ; look as if they were bald.' And 
 true enough some curious specimens of Anglican 
 conventualism were there. 
 
 ' Those are the Scsurs de Charite/ says Gold- 
 stick again, who was getting tired. 
 
 ' By Jove ! but I say, old fellow, that's rather 
 strong, isn't it ? Belgian, or something Catholic?' 
 Passenham was not yet up in the business. 
 
 'We're all Catholic, too/ replies Goldstick, 
 whom long practice had made more au fait at 
 the language, and who, indeed, had more sense 
 than the other, and was rather amused at his 
 friend's mystification. ' We're all Cathohcs.'
 
 OUE EELIGIOUS EXERCISES. 297 
 
 * Ah, yes; I see; so we are^ to be sure^ 
 since the Reformation.' 
 
 ' This is a new light, Mary, dear/ says a lady 
 in the body of the church opposite the altar. 
 'What a beautiful altar-cloth; and do look at 
 those vestments, why they're real jewels.' 
 
 ' — sh, ma, dear!' Ma dear spoke a little 
 above high-church pitch. ' That's the diamond 
 that was given by Lady Sophia Crosspatch ; it 
 was sewn into the cross at the back of the 
 chasuble.' 
 
 ' What's a chasuble, Mary ? ' 
 
 'Well, I don't know exactly; but it's abso- 
 lutely necessary, Mr Longfast says, to make the 
 services complete.' 
 
 And that's the way the world goes on. But 
 I know Goldstick would not come but for the 
 music, nor Passenham but for Goldstick. Pulham 
 is not bored by the service, and Spoonington is 
 balancing accounts by his attendance. Mary's 
 mamma is not altogether at her ease ; but Mary 
 herself sees an all-sufficient reason for self-denial, 
 early rising, alms-giving, and a mild good- 
 humour in the adornment of her favourite curate, 
 Mr Longfast, in stoles, chasubles, albs, copes, 
 and a flowery garment, with a cross of four feet 
 lonar.
 
 298 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 It ouglit to be remarked tliat a great many 
 persons who allow tlieir virtues to begin here do 
 not limit them to these externals of propriety. 
 
 The position of the Church may account for 
 the conversation which was taking place in 
 Grosvenor- square, while Harold Falcon was loung- 
 ing about Bond-street and the clubs. 
 
 Lady Helen sat in a handsome prie-Dieu in 
 her own room, and opposite to her Lady Diana 
 was reclining in a comfortable arm-chair. A 
 little fire gave additional warmth to the room, 
 well carpeted and curtained, and furnished with 
 all the luxuries which well-disposed wealth could 
 procure. There was an ormolu cabinet of very 
 handsome workmanship; some beautiful speci- 
 mens of old Sevres china, of which she was very 
 fond ; some cabinet pictures, gems which had 
 been given to her by Lord Hawkestone ; and 
 there was an utter freedom from all the fopperie 
 of upholstery which were then so common, and 
 which were unfortunately taking an ecclesiastical 
 turn. Altars, crucifixes, and statuettes of virgins, 
 saints, or martyrs, were wanting ; yet Lady Helen 
 Falcon was a very good and a very religious 
 woman. 
 
 'And do you go regularly, Helen, every 
 Thursday to your district ? ' inquired Lady Diana,
 
 OUR RELIGIOUS EXERCISES. 299 
 
 wliose bonnet was lying on a chair near lier^ and 
 whose beautiful fair hair was floating about, as it 
 sometimes did in those days, without any sus- 
 picion of her being a bigamist, poisoner, or even 
 a malicious slanderer. 
 
 ' Always ; unless something extraordinary oc- 
 curs to prevent me/ 
 
 ' And where do you dress, dear ? ' 
 
 ^ Where do I dress ? ^ repeated Lady Helen, 
 not quite understanding the question ; ' what do 
 you mean, Di ? ' 
 
 'I mean,' said^the laughing lady, ^ where do 
 you put on your black serge dress, which all you 
 Sisters of Charity wear when you go visiting ? ' 
 
 t.'/ But I donH wear black serge, my dear,' re- 
 plied the other. 
 
 ' Oh, I don't think its anything' without the 
 dress, Helen. I shouldn't feel half charitable — 
 no, I don't mean that — I mean half up to the 
 work.' 
 
 ' Perhaps not ; I daresay some ladies do not : 
 and then Mr Carfax (he was^the brother of the 
 Member for the corrupt borough of Dumbleton) 
 encourages them to enter the order. It never 
 occurs to me that I should do more good in one 
 colour than another.' 
 
 ' But it's so becoming, Helen, dear.'
 
 300 LOED falconberg's heir. 
 
 ' Not to dark people like me, Di/ said Lady 
 Helen, laugMng, ' tliougli it might suit you/ 
 
 ' And who are the other Sisters ? ' 
 
 ' But Pm not a Sister. Of course, as you will 
 understand, all the Sisters are light-haired blonde 
 beauties/ 
 
 ' Well, the other ladies who assist in the dis- 
 trict visiting ? ' 
 
 ' Some are friends of our own — the Carletons, 
 Mrs Melville, Dora Shakerley, Lady Margaret, 
 and half-a-dozen more/ 
 
 ' You must have quite a jollification. And 
 are they all of that class ? ' 
 
 'Not entirely; there's Mrs Panns, the iron- 
 monger, and — ■' 
 
 ' That must be rather a bore, dear. Does she 
 dress in serge ? ' 
 
 ' Not at all a bore, dear,' said Lady Helen, 
 answering the first part of her friend's speech. 
 ' She doesn't dress in serge, and she often goes 
 with me. She's a very good woman, and does a 
 great deal of good. I think I prefer Mrs Panns 
 to any of them. I found out her trade by her 
 getting a quantity of kitchen utensils for the poor 
 old women at cost price. She made no secret of 
 her business, for she told us all that her husband 
 would provide them for next to nothing.'
 
 OUK RELIGIOUS EXERCISES. 301 
 
 ' And do you think Mr Carfax would take me ? 
 I should so like to do some good^ Helen; one 
 would go into society with such an easy con- 
 science/ 
 
 ' I don't think he'd care about the compro- 
 mise, dear ; but as we must go into society, and 
 live like other people, it's as well to have regular 
 times for doing other duties. One can't be 
 always out of the world, and one ought not to be 
 always in it.' 
 
 ^Then I'll go to Mr Carfax to-morrow, if 
 mamma will let me ; and I shall ask for permis- 
 sion to enter the order.' 
 
 ' And if you find it becoming, let us see you 
 in your dress, Di. We expect Hawkestone home 
 in a short time, and he'll be glad to see you.' 
 
 ' He will ? ' said the girl, unconsciously be- 
 traying her interest in Lord Hawkestone's opinion 
 by getting up and kissing Lady Helen, 
 
 * There's nothing he likes so much as self- 
 denial, or self-sacrifice of any kind, in woman, 
 Di ; but I think he'd prefer it without the serge.' 
 And there is no knowing how far the confidences 
 might have extended had not the door opened, 
 and Harold Falcon been announced. 
 
 Harold Falcon put a stop to an interesting 
 conversation, which exhibited the sentiments of
 
 302 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 two ladies, identical in result, but somewliat dif- 
 ferent in principle. He was always a welcome 
 guest at his uncle's, as tlie reader knows, and no 
 less to Lady Helen than to the rest of the circle. 
 He looked at present out of sorts, rather than 
 spirits. These latter were never very high. In 
 that respect he had changed very much. The 
 devil-may-care ease of a mauvais sujet much in 
 debt had given place to the sobriety of a well-to- 
 do man of the world. Whether these highly- 
 bred rascals, who go about with their hands 
 in other people's pockets, laugh at their own 
 success as compared with the losses of their 
 creditors, it is hard to say. A great many of 
 them sleep very well, and are not surprised at it. 
 They are rather surprised that sleep should visit 
 the temples of those to whom they owe so much, 
 without the prospect of paying it. 
 
 ^ Helen,' and Harold Falcon had no scruples 
 about making Lady Diana Belleville a confidante, 
 hoping some assistance from her, ' here's a letter 
 I found at the club, from Hawkestone ; he's on 
 his way home — he does not say whether better or 
 worse; but he's going, as usual, to do the 
 stupidest thing possible.' 
 
 ' And what must I do ? ' 
 
 'Stop him. Write at once.' A close ob-
 
 OUR RELIGIOUS EXERCISES. 303 
 
 server would have seen colour and disappoint- 
 ment blend in Lady Di's cheek as he said so. 
 
 ' Stop him ? That's not so easy ; but is he 
 worse ?' and Helenas voice betrayed her anxiety. 
 
 ^ No, not at all^ that I know of; but he will 
 attend to you. Stop him from going home by 
 Holland. I know the country — cold and bleak at 
 this season; let him come as usual^ straight by 
 Paris. There's a railroad now from Strasburg, 
 and he will travel with less fatigue.' 
 
 ^ But if he will come through Holland^ who's 
 to prevent him^ Harold ? Which way does he 
 want to come ? ' 
 
 ' He speaks of Luxemburg and Cleves. I 
 know the country well. He wants to see Nime- 
 guen and some of the Dutch cities. Persuade 
 him to come straight home.' And Harold Falcon 
 seemed to attach much importance to it. 
 
 ' But he's not so easy of persuasion, you 
 know.' Still Harold urged her. He seemed 
 much bent on his cousin's avoiding Holland ; and, 
 of course, after a few more words, Helen gave 
 way. Lady Diana seconded Harold's remonstrance; 
 and so feebly that it was clear enough she 
 had some reason for ardently desiring to suc- 
 ceed. 
 
 ' I'll write by to-night's post, Harold. I shall
 
 304 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 be so glad wlien he is home again. When are 
 we to go down to Egmont ? ' 
 
 ' You^ll be my guests^ Helen, at Easter. I've 
 been down to put everything to rights for your 
 reception. IVe no room for you. Lady Di, or we 
 should be delighted to see you — at least Helen 
 would do the honours for me.' 
 
 ' Certainly, with the greatest pleasure, Di. 
 But it's a terribly stupid place, according to 
 Harold's account. This is our first visit.' 
 
 ' We can send the horses down, and ride 
 about the country. We've a new squire, too, 
 who's worth seeing — Sir Samuel Cripplegate — 
 otherwise there's literally nothing for ladies to do 
 in a suburb.' 
 
 Croquet hadn't yet been invented.
 
 305 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 THE JANSENS. MOTHER AND SON. 
 
 Time had also gone on with Bemliard Jansen 
 and liis daughter,, and had changed to eternity 
 with his wife. Frau Jansen had been dead some 
 few years. No clock had stopped, no mysterious 
 symbol had betokened the inopportune death of 
 our old acquaintance. She was missed, when she 
 did go ; as any one may be, without compliment 
 in saying so. A dead wife may have been the 
 tree that sheltered the family roof from storms 
 or strokes, but she may too have represented the 
 thunder-cloud that towers above us to pour down 
 her vials of wrath, when the family atmosphere 
 had reached the proper temperature. 
 
 Jansen felt her loss, when she did go ; which 
 is an euphemism upon my previous expression, 
 ' missed her.' So did Margaret. She had been 
 kind to Margaret in her peculiar way ; bent on 
 her marrying a gentleman; indulgent, alas! to 
 her faults; unconsciously her worst enemy. But, 
 
 VOL. I. 20
 
 306 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 thank Heaven, children are not made to see in- 
 dulgence in that light, whatever its results. 
 Should you like to see a monster in human 
 shape ? 1^11 show you one — a phantom, a myth, 
 I believe ; as impossible, or more so, than Becky 
 Sharpe herself. It is the man or woman, of 
 whatever age or condition, who turns round upon 
 the authors of his or her existence, to cast in 
 their teeth the half-venial selfishness of child-in- 
 dulgence. I say nothing of faults, of other faults. 
 No man of common sense can shut his eyes to 
 facts; bat few would reject the burden of his 
 own infirmities to put it on the shoulders of a 
 parent's over-love. 
 
 So Margaret missed her mother, indeed. Years 
 had softened old Jansen's nature, and made his 
 bark less loud as he had one less to bite, or as 
 he found a more ready submission to his will. 
 Most men cease to fight when there is no resist- 
 ance. The two lived on in the cottage near 
 Cleves ; and the changes that had taken place 
 are easily told. 
 
 There was no Frau Jansen, I have already 
 said. In the next place, the man Jansen was no 
 longer a handicraftsman. He and his daughter 
 together had enough to live upon well, in a com- 
 paratively cheap country, so he worked now only
 
 THE JANSENS. MOTHER AND SON. 307 
 
 en amateur. He sometimes took a turn to great 
 cities, to tlie picture-galleries, and tlie churches, 
 and the curiosity-shops of his country ; but he 
 had ceased to work at his art, and money would 
 not tempt him. He was getting old. The giant 
 was still large, heavy, massive, but no longer 
 quick of foot, nor upright. His hair was gray, 
 and so were his shaggy eyebrows, and they over- 
 hung his still quick, intelligent eyes. He was 
 much altered since he left England, and per- 
 haps, but for his great height and size, he would 
 not have been recognized as the old ring-man 
 and money-lender, excepting by his intimates — 
 Harold Falcon certainly among the number. 
 
 It was a regular April day, though May was 
 about commencing, when old Jansen and his 
 daughter sat in a neat little room, furnished in a 
 less primitive style than usual among persons of 
 Jansen's class in that neighbourhood. Being- 
 half English himself, with a daughter entirely so, 
 he had transplanted his notions of comfort to his 
 own country, as far as he could ; for Cleves is in 
 Guelderland, and he was a Dutchman. There was 
 a good easy-chair of real English build, some 
 warm curtains, which darkened the little room ; he 
 still clung to the stove instead of a fire-place ; and 
 there was a gaily-patterned carpet, not tacked
 
 308 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 down as in our houses, but let to lie loose on tlie 
 floor, wliicli was polished, and bore to be denuded 
 of its covering, when summer was fairly set in. 
 For the rest, Herr Jansen was occupied drawing, 
 while Margaret was engaged on that never-failing 
 source of self-congratulative German industry, a 
 stocking. 
 
 ' Margaret,' said the old man, ' whereas the 
 boy?^ 
 
 ' He^s coming from Emmerich : I expect him 
 at Cleves this afternoon. He should be home 
 in an hour or two.' 
 
 ' Do you feel satisfied with his English ? He 
 seems to me to speak it scarcely so fluently since 
 he left Diisseldorf.' 
 
 ' He had great advantages there,' said the 
 lady to her father ; ' he was always in the Enghsh 
 clergyman's house, excepting when studying at 
 the gallery, or with his masters. Since then it 
 may be that he speaks less easily.' Herr Jansen 
 and Margaret always conversed in English, ex- 
 cepting when occasion required — as before others, 
 their neighbours — that they should speak Ger- 
 man. 
 
 ' And what do you propose to do with him 
 now?' 
 
 ' I think of doing as yoxa recommended. Let
 
 THE JANSENS. MOTHER AND SON. 309 
 
 him go to the English tutor at Heidelberg, and 
 when old enough send him to England.' 
 
 ^ Why not to the German university ? ' in- 
 quired her father. ' A university life is a great 
 thing. He will acquire a knowledge of the 
 world.^ 
 
 'But it is a very different world from the 
 English world, in which I hope he will move.' 
 
 'You are bent on an English career for him?' 
 
 'lam. I have no other wish. You said you 
 thought it might be gratified.' 
 
 ' I think so still. But have you still so strong 
 within you the same desire, the same hope, the 
 same expectation. To me it seems vain. We 
 have seen him no more, have heard of him no 
 more. Give me the boy. Let him turn to art. 
 It is still time. He has a fine perception : and 
 here, at least, it is an honourable occupation.' 
 Herr Jansen seemed very much in earnest ; as 
 though he had a love for the boy of whom they 
 spoke, and as of one for whom he meant to do all 
 he could. Certainly Jansen's notions of true 
 greatness were centred in art, though he had 
 tried a shorter road to money once on a time. 
 But he was made up of mixed motives, not com- 
 prehensible to every one, nor always to himself. 
 Art, he said, was the highest sagacity, and money
 
 310 LOED falconberg's heir. 
 
 the highest necessity. But art did not pay such 
 high wages as the devil, and once he had changed 
 his sides. Now that he did not want the wages, 
 he should like to go back again. But how about 
 the boy V 
 
 ' Papa/ said Margaret, looking steadily at her 
 knitting, but letting her fingers cease their active 
 employment, ' I owe you much, I wish I could 
 pay you for the sorrow I have given you,^ — and 
 here a tear fell upon her work, — 'but I can't. 
 Take my boy ; he is yours, if you will have him ; 
 but you know my hopes, and they can only be 
 accomplished in my way.' 
 
 ' There, no more, Margaret ; Pll do my best 
 for you. PU go to England when I can, and see 
 what is best to be done in the matter ; till then 
 be still, my good girl. We've both had our sorrows. 
 It's best to share them.' 
 
 Then he assiduously applied himself to his 
 drawing, and bent over it more closely than 
 usual ; and his daughter went on with her knit- 
 ting. 
 
 ' Don't you think it odd, now, that so many 
 English travel, and so few come this way? No- 
 body ever goes to Cleves, excepting the Dutch, that 
 we ever hear of.' 
 
 'It's not the direct road anywhere. But I
 
 THE JANSENS. MOTHER AND SON. 311 
 
 saw an Englishman yesterday at Heri' Maivalt's 
 at the table d'hote. He was going to Amsterdam 
 by Nimeguen, I think he said/ 
 
 ' What was he Hke ? ' 
 
 ' A milord of course. However, he really was 
 so. Lord Hawkestone, on his way from Italy. 
 Why he should have preferred this road, I can^t 
 conceive. He was ill too ; at least he looked so.' 
 
 ' Perhaps only tired. Lords do tire sometimes 
 of pleasure — it's a privilege they enjoy in common 
 with other people.' 
 
 * He might have gone by Strasburg. There's 
 a railway to Paris. Perhaps if we get one, the 
 beauties of the Clevischeberg might become 
 known. There's no doubt that your countrymen — 
 yours I mean, Margaret — might learn something 
 from intercourse with foreign countries.' 
 
 ' They've learnt nothing yet ; and there's little 
 good they could learn.' 
 
 ^ So they think themselves. They've not 
 been far enough, nor staid long enough, nor in 
 sufficient quantities. Send them to France, with 
 their stiff stand-up collars, and tall hats, their 
 unsociable manners, and pride of purse, closely- 
 shaven chins, and tightly-strapped trowsers — ' 
 
 ' To return with manners as loose as their 
 neckclothsj slouched hats, pockets down to their
 
 312 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 knees, and an affectation of gaiety wliich is worse 
 than our ill-humoured reserve/ 
 
 ' It will be better for both, Margaret. Travel- 
 ling will do them good/ 
 
 'It will be worse for us, papa. What pet 
 virtue is France to carry away from England?' 
 Jansen stopped and then said slowly, and bitterly, 
 
 ' A taste for horse-racing, and that indomitable 
 coolness in wickedness — no, no, let's shuffle the 
 national vices. You'll see that, by the time this 
 world is a great network of railways, the Eng- 
 lishman and the Frenchman will be both more 
 agreeable companions, and — ' 
 
 'Worse men.' Bernhard Jansen had risen 
 before his daughter uttered these few words, and 
 it was plain to see that his humour had changed. 
 He ran his hand through his gray locks, which 
 were long and silky. Then he clenched it sternly, 
 turning away from his daughter who had taken 
 possession of the other hand, and said with sup- 
 pressed voice and emotion, ' worse — impossible. 
 
 S ,' here he swore a terrible German oath ; 
 
 ' that you, too, Gretchen, should live to say it.' 
 She let fall his hand and returned to her seat, 
 cowed and dejected. The old man went out. 
 
 Margaret Jansen is, notwithstanding increased 
 age, worth a few moments' consideration. She
 
 THE JANSENS. MOTHER AND SON. 31-3 
 
 is as beautiful as when we first saw her, as the 
 assistant glove-cutter in the Woodstock man- 
 trap, so skilfully baited. There were the clear 
 blue eyes, full, rather far apart, the white low 
 forehead, the hair a light brown, perfect in quan- 
 tity and quality, the lily reigned in her cheek, 
 the rose was dead or had left only its scent, and 
 the bright lips parted showed the pearly teeth, 
 as of old. Of course she looked older — matronly 
 — and the curls which formerly clustered round 
 her temples, and descended to her neck, were 
 now reduced, curbed from their luxuriance into 
 simple bands. She was a very pretty woman. 
 
 Before I go on with the story, I must account 
 for Bemhard Jansen^s peculiarity of humour by 
 recurring to the events of past years. It will be 
 remembered that he has been described as a vio- 
 lent, overbearing person, at times, but with a 
 great amount of rough good-humour, and an easy 
 willingness to act with generosity. Circum- 
 stances acted upon this temperament at first very 
 disadvantageously. His wife was unsuited to 
 him in many respects, and had that narrowness 
 of understanding which such men are of necessity 
 apt to despise. ' 
 
 One of his characteristics, too, was a love for 
 his daughter, which was warmer as it was less
 
 314 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 demonstrative tlian is usual. It was thwarted 
 by the conduct and injudicious manoeuvres of 
 Frau Jansen and of the daughter herself. With 
 an honesty of purpose which the giant carried 
 with him in his face and very iDliysique, he had 
 denounced their wicked and silly designs for 
 achieving a position of very doubtful happiness 
 and possible disgrace. 
 
 From the day that they had reached their 
 present abode in the neighbourhood of Cleves, 
 the man^s mind to some degree had given way. 
 All its consistency had broken down when he 
 heard the secret of his daughter's dishonour. It 
 had become necessary that he should know the 
 truth, that the honour of his name and family 
 had been stained in the person of his only child ; 
 for within five or six months of their leaving 
 England, Margaret was a mother. 
 
 At first, violent paroxysms of rage were suc- 
 ceeded by long fits of silent sullenness ; when 
 the dishonour was inevitable, by a settled gloom. 
 It was necessary that the best should be done for 
 the girl, and his violence would but endanger her 
 life, and increase the chance of detection. He 
 was sileift that others might be so too. For a 
 twelvemonth he would see neither the one nor 
 the other ; for he believed his wife to be the more
 
 THE JANSENS. MOTHER AND SON. 315 
 
 culpable of the two. Perliaps she was, but her 
 daughter would not tell her so. She joined them 
 on the continent in time to render every needful 
 assistance, having remained in England to pack 
 up their effects. 
 
 In a few years the mother died, of cold, or of 
 heat, or of some of those inexphcable disorders 
 of which men and women do die. From that 
 time the old man grew calmer, but he grew older; 
 and as he grew older he became exceedingly fit- 
 ful in humour. The odd part of it was that he 
 loved the boy with a fondness which he had once 
 felt for his daughter. He wanted him to study 
 art in Germany, his mother desired that he should 
 go to England. Either would have given way, 
 and from different motives. 
 
 A word for the boy himself. He was a very 
 handsome young fellow, with laughing blue eyes, 
 and curly hair, essentially Saxon in appearance, 
 and very English in manner and figure. This 
 Anglicanism had been confirmed and improved 
 by constant association with English boys at his 
 tutor's at Diisseldorf, where, with Latin and Greek, 
 and other needful scholastic accomplishments, he 
 had acquired a facihty of speaking our language, 
 which defied detection on the score of his sup- 
 posed foreign origin. Till he was seven or eight
 
 316 LORD falconberg's heir. 
 
 years old lie may be said to have rejoiced in no 
 name at all. He was first called Baby^ and then 
 George^ and it was not until after Mrs Jansen's 
 death, and when it became necessary to part with 
 him_, that a name had to be sought for him. His 
 mother had her way, and he became a fellow-pupil 
 of several young English lads, as George Fellowes. 
 Old Jansen submitted easily to what he could not 
 quite comprehend. He ventured upon some sug- 
 gestions, which were not heeded by Margaret, 
 and in the end consoled himself with the reflection 
 that, as long as it were not his own name, it 
 would be well to let her have her fancy. ' She 
 has suffered more than I, though she has deserved 
 it.^ He was also well content to love the boy, as 
 much as he now professed to hate all Enghshmen. 
 ' Fellowes ? why not, as well as another. Heaven 
 knows whether the poor girl believes her own 
 story or not.' 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 JOHN CHILDS AND SON, PKINTEBS.
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS-URBANA 
 
 3 0112 041679017